


once more in the name of love

by chymyg (greetingsfrommaars)



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Space, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Multi, Prompt Fill, Red String of Fate, School Band AU, budding rivalry, emotional link, for some of them at least, kun the hopeless romantic, side pairings, some kind of vague steampunk au, traveling wizard johnny, variety show, your boi jaehyun at the neighborhood inn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greetingsfrommaars/pseuds/chymyg
Summary: Soulmate prompt fills starting on Valentine’s Day!Tags get updated as I go along.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Kim Jungwoo, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Kim Jungwoo/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Qian Kun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 26
Kudos: 117





	1. kun/doyoung/ten, red string of fate pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from misheard lyrics of "pride (in the name of love)" by u2

Kun honestly doesn’t see what’s so odd about it. Sure, there’s a language barrier, and an entire new hierarchy of terms of address to internalize, but all that fades away in the face of grander things. True love. Eternal companionship. A far-flung destiny, you know?

Sicheng stares at him blankly. A beat passes. He takes a sip of his tea, wordlessly.

“Well, alright, what made you pack up and move to a new country, then?” Kun huffs. “It’s not like it was any easier for you.” He smirks. “Wenzhou boy.”

Sicheng sighs. “Dance scholarship.” He picks at a thread on his sleeve. “Boring and practical, I know.”

“No, practical is good,” Kun insists. “It’s good that you think about your future.” Playing it practical was how he’d convinced his parents on the big move – playing up the market for music producers abroad. He’d had to pull out the economic reasoning on that one: relative income levels, access to connections, international potential…

Sicheng hums. “I’m glad one of us is, at least,” he mutters, then grimaces. “Sorry, I didn’t… mean that.”

Kun doesn’t wince. Sicheng immediately apologized; it’s fine.

“I just, I don’t understand how you can run off to another country for love, or destiny, or whatever. Not that that’s not important, but… it’s your fate. Won’t fate get you there anyway? Do you have to uproot yourself to push it along?”

Kun sucks in a breath. “It’s not… it’s not like I’m _not_ thinking about my future, too, you know? My soulmates _are_ a part of my future. In a way. And besides, that’s not the only reason I came here. It’s a good music program! And a direct line to production companies afterward.”

They both think on this for a moment, continuing along down the eastern campus loop. The paths are practically deserted on a Friday afternoon.

“I guess… what I’m trying to say is, I moved here because of my soulmates, but also because of the music opportunities, but also… because I felt I should. Like, my soulmates are here, but they’re just one part of my future. It’s just… trying to move in the right direction, in multiple ways.”

Sicheng’s wearing a considering face.

“... Something like that,” Kun finishes weakly.

Kun has always been a bit of a romantic. It makes his mother shake her head fondly, and Sicheng puff his cheeks and sigh at him, but Kun’s glad to live that way, honestly. Besides, Sicheng secretly names all of his personal choreographies after maudlin Mandarin ballads, so he can walk his judgmental looks right out the door.

Kun had always known he’d have to pack up and jet off one day. That’s just how it is, growing up with both strings laying slack both ways. Realistically, he’d known that that kind of distance meant at least a train ride, maybe even a flight, and yet – when he was younger, he’d run down the streets after his threads, trying to pull them just a little closer. He probably looked silly, almost knocking into bikes and carts, one or both hands held up so he could watch his threads pull up close. No one else could see his strings, but anyone could tell what he was looking for just by his raised pinkies. Most people would just be more subtle about it. They’d try to be low-key about finding their soulmates, about following the winding paths of their own destinies. But that’s just the thing.

On each little finger, Kun holds a crimson ribbon. At the other end lies the other two thirds to his soul. What can he do but follow?

His strings never felt any different by the end of his runs. He was still just as far away. But even so – one street stall auntie would give him free buns whenever she saw him running with his hands outstretched. One time he came across a tiny puppy, and it was the softest being he’d ever held. Even if he still hadn’t found _them_ , he would always find something worthwhile at the end of his chases.

At least now when his strings pull in different ways, he knows it’s because he’s in between his soulmates at close range. It’s almost like they’re holding hands, at a city-span distance.

His brimming hope from his first days in Seoul has eased down a bit, true. This is still the closest he’s ever felt. Even better, he’s met Sicheng: a skeptical friend, a foreigner buddy, a reason for hope – not at the end of either of Kun’s strings, but holding one loop loosely about his waist. Sicheng himself can’t see it, but it steadies Kun, to feel like he’s on the right path.

He’s never told Sicheng he has a loop. Some people don’t even believe in secondary loops, thinking that they just occur by coincidence, or that they’re false string endings, to test your dedication. Idealistic people believe that they represent a link, an intermediate step along the path to your soulmate.

Kun doesn’t know about any of that. He’s hopeful, sure, but more than that, he’s glad to have Sicheng at all. He has a fellow Mandarin-speaker, and a friend to walk through campus with on nice days. Kun originally wasn’t going to come into campus today, for example. He has audio mix assignments to be tweaking, but Sicheng had asked to go on a walk, and homework thoughts aren’t allowed on bestie outings, so they’ll have to wait.

Kun is halfway through a crazy anecdote about that time he flew to Korea by himself on a whim, as a clueless high schooler – Sicheng keeps gaping at him in complete shock; it’s great – when he feels it.

He takes off sprinting, leaving Sicheng to shout behind him and give chase. His heart’s pounding, his legs already aching, his string of fate pulled taut on his right hand, urging him forward, faster, faster –

By the time they reach the music department, Kun heaving and Sicheng unfairly unwinded, Kun’s soulmate is gone. Kun _knows_ they were here, within reach. His string sags onto the floor now. They probably caught a bus and travelled too far again, the logical part of Kun’s mind admits.

In their place is a tall, excitable guy named Yukhei, who yelps when Kun almost bowls him over, and carries a loop of Kun’s _other_ string around his middle.

Kun eyes it as he tries to catch his breath. Sicheng’s demanding an explanation at his side.

Another loop, huh. One loop for each of his strings.

One step closer.  
  
  
  
Doyoung’s not awake. Don’t let them lie to you.

Yuta’s trailing behind him down the hallway, mouth going a mile a minute. He’d spouted words for the entire drive to the studio, and then for all of Doyoung’s quality time in front of the makeup artists. Everyone else had followed Yuta’s lead, bustling around Doyoung like bees buzzing around a hive, but that’s just how Yuta operates. Bulldozing forward with his agenda, no regard for anyone’s completely reasonable demands for sleep or peace and quiet.

As far as Doyoung’s concerned, his day hasn’t started until one of the interns presses a coffee into his hand and watches in horror as he gulps it down, scalding hot. (This is how he cultivates his “cold city guy” image.) Until then, anything said to him is just white noise, faded into the background city soundscape of car horns and distant sirens.

Even whatever Very Important updates Yuta’s giving him right now on his schedule. Honestly, Yuta should know better by now. Sure, maybe _some_ people can wake up at five every day and hit the ground running, literally, in atrocious neon tracksuits, but not everyone sprints through life like Nakamoto Yuta, thank god.

(Doyoung and Yuta used to live together, as idol and manager. _Never again._ )

With the rush of caffeine, some of Yuta’s rambling starts to filter through Doyoung’s ears. Apparently Johnny wants to meet to go over a script for Doyoung’s next Friday corner. It has become a regular fixture on the radio show Johnny runs with his partner, Jaehyun, after doing wonders for Doyoung’s reputation as an _artiste_ with musical know-how.

Come to think of it, they’re overdue for a dinner together, all three of them. Doyoung makes a mental note to set it up – he has to do it himself, because heaven knows he can’t ask _Yuta_ to do it. As if Yuta would ever pull his weight as Doyoung’s manager the way he’s supposed to, instead of wrestling Doyoung into a regular sleep schedule and keeping him well-fed during song-writing camps or whatever.

“Also I’m driving you to Sichengie’s studio this afternoon, so he can teach you your new choreo. I haven’t seen it yet, but Sicheng promises it’s a stunner, and you know how I feel about Sicheng and the word ‘stunning’...” Yuta blathers on in a classic Nakamoto monologue.

(Doyoung used to think he’d be safe from that whole dancing ordeal, as a solo singer who can just sing his heart out without any kind of _active_ choreo, but no, he has to cement his appeal for the younger, energetic crowd. It comes as part of the idol career package, along with perks like exhausting variety appearances and carefully avoiding any mention of his strings of fate.

Strings of fate, plural. Not strictly taboo, but… his company doesn’t bring it up. Neither does Doyoung.)

He casts an idle glance over the fancy elevator interior as he and Yuta ascend.

He’s never been to this studio before. He’s never worked with this music producer before, either. Apparently his company has a good relationship with this guy – hired him to produce a few of the slower songs for Huang Renjun’s last EP – but Doyoung can still try for a good first impression. He’s sleep-deprived, which means he should pay more attention to his voice quality and make sure to warm up. One string tugs at his finger when he runs a hand over his throat. It’s almost tight to the point of constricting his blood flow, but he’s had false alarms before. His string will pull him towards a street corner popular with buskers, or a ritzy shopping district building, or a residential block he wouldn’t get caught dead in. He can handle it – he’s a consummate performer. He’s had experience tuning out the pressure.

Doyoung still remembers, distinctly, that first time back in college, when he felt the tugging and almost turned back to the music department. But he’d held firm.

He regrets that now, of course. For multiple reasons. For one thing, he’d dropped his music major for business, just to end up in the music industry again when he got casted, much to his parents’ chagrin. For another, that day he went to turn in his forms – it’s still the closest he’s ever felt.

He starts tugging at the string, trying to loosen it at least to the point of not turning his finger blue. It won’t budge. He notices the moment Yuta notices and starts to round on him in concern. They’re almost at the recording booth. Hopefully that’ll hold off Yuta’s nagging for later, because damn that man knows how to guilt-trip you –

Then Doyoung sees _him_ , and damn near walks into the glass wall. His _soulmate_ half-rises from his chair in alarm. Yuta’s cackling from somewhere behind Doyoung.

“Oh my god, are you okay? Does your head hurt? Do you need an ice pack?” The more his soulmate fusses, the higher his voice rises in pitch. It’s cute.

“I-I’m fine,” Doyoung says. He gives his soulmate a quick once-over, probably not subtly enough. “Better now, with you, uh… here. With you. Yeah.” God, Doyoung, just shut it already.

His dimples come out when he smiles, Doyoung notices dimly.

Yuta’s still snickering at him. Doyoung aims a friendly elbow at his gut.

In the minutes that follow, Doyoung learns that his soulmate’s name is Kun, hailing from China. He barely has an accent when he speaks. He’d moved countries, years ago, just to find the other ends of his soul. He enjoys cooking and composing in his free time. He blushes when flustered, and he feels self-conscious right now because he’d bought herbal tea for Doyoung as a greeting gift, before even knowing him. Doyoung might just have to marry him right then and there.

After he throws Yuta out a fourth-floor window, of course.  
  
  
  
Ten has several complaints. At least a handful. Enough to need two hands to hold, even, if his hands weren’t already occupied with twirling his wineglass and mussing up his hair, respectively.

His hotel room feels like a museum with its dramatic art pieces and pristine furniture. It could never be his home away from imaginary home. His pajamas chafe at his skin, rough from the subpar complimentary laundry services the hotel had provided. His bed extends too far past his outstretched hands when he lies spread-eagle at the center of it; he’ll sink into it and never be seen again, he swears. Small aesthetic differences, sure, but Ten’s a fashion designer. Tearing into these minor details is his job.

His wine tastes off, but he can’t put his finger on why. Too sour? Too sweet? He taps his finger on the glass stem. _Plink. Plink. Plink._

He’ll call Johnny to ask his opinion on it, he decides.

Johnny looks offensively cozy when he picks up the video call, fuzzy sleep mask and cartoony bear pajamas and all. He raises an eyebrow when he hears Ten’s reason for calling.

“Uh… you know you can’t share your wine with me over the phone, right?”

Ten smirks. “Says who?” He tilts his glass threateningly over the phone.

“No, Ten!” Johnny yelps, fumbling with his own phone as if that’ll stop Ten somehow. “Don’t – You shouldn’t – If you wanted someone to talk to, you could have just said so!”

Ten hears a Jaehyun-like sound of concern in the background. Johnny calls back that he’s fine, nothing to worry about, _babe._ Who gave him the right to be so cute? Ten fake-retches in protest.

Johnny mutters something like “you’ll understand when you meet yours, Tennie,” trying to sound like some kind of mature older friend. What a dumb-dumb.

This dumb-dumb has some life updates to share. He tells Ten that Jaehyun got his first gig producing for a broadcasting company on his own. He’s even trying to hide his proud smile, as if Ten doesn’t already know Johnny would fly sixteen hours nonstop and eat cheerios off the floor for one Jung Jaehyun.

“What else… Oh! One of our good friends found his soulmate recently! He’s the guy who guests with us sometimes – the one who gives Jaehyun backhanded compliments all the time, remember? It’s hilarious. Anyway, it turns out his soulmate’s some music producer guy. Apparently he has a really nice studio and _really_ nice arms. I’ve been hearing about him over the phone for days. I swear, they’re almost as cute as _us_.”

Ten snorts.

Johnny pauses.

Ten holds in a hiccup, and doesn’t quite fill in the silence.

“You good over there, Tennie?”

Ah shit, Johnny’s onto him.

Ten tries to distract him, spinning off into an inane anecdote about how the hotel staff almost put him in a two-bed by accident, and he half-considered rolling up his extra towels into a fake person under the covers, just to scare them a little. Keep them on their toes, you know?

Johnny hums in the right places, nodding attentively, but Ten already knows. Johnny has long leveled up to the highest tier of friendship – he knows a quiet Ten means there’s something on his mind.

Johnny’s patience always outlasts Ten’s stubbornness sooner or later. It comes spilling out before long.

So he’s in a hotel, alone, days away from any of his friends. Also maybe a little wine-drunk.

Not that this is unusual. He’s always in hotels, alone, minutes from the catwalk. The wine came out today as a celebratory aid, but he’d had no one to drink it with, so. That devolved pretty quickly.

This is the fifth airport he’s landed at in a month. The fifth city he’s gazed out over, from the silence of his hotel room. Maybe he’s just a person who will never learn how to stop moving. Maybe by the time he finds them, if he ever does, they won’t know what to do with a third soulmate who never stays still, never stays at home. They’ve been stably in the same direction for years. Maybe they don’t need an interloper who just intrudes into their established life and swans off all the time.

Johnny listens, expressionless, and lets him talk. He even puts up a hand to stop Jaehyun from coming in, at one point. Ten would feel guilty, but he’s known Johnny for years, and knows to feel cared for instead.

Johnny listens well.

And then he tells Ten, in no uncertain terms, that anyone would be lucky to have him. That even if his soulmates have settled into their lives together, they’ll still know his strings lead out somewhere, and they’ll know to wait. If they don’t wait, Ten can come find Johnny, and he’ll knock some sense into them. Gently. With his words.

Ten wishes, not for the first time, that Johnny were his soulmate instead. He’d felt so exhilarated, all those years ago, meeting Johnny and seeing how one of Ten’s strings looped right around him, a loose embrace around his shoulders. And then Ten had dared to hope that maybe it’d be someone like him, steady and determined, who fell in with Ten’s sense of humor quickly and smiled back without restraint. Not Johnny himself, of course, but – the idea was nice to fixate on, for a while. Before they moved away to different universities, and then Ten flew out for an internship in Paris, and then Johnny started working his way up through broadcasting stations in Seoul, and then Ten started opening locations on other continents…

And now he’s met Jaehyun, and seen them together, and he could never begrudge Jaehyun anything. Have you seen the man smile? Denying that man any kind of joy or companionship must be illegal. Ten had decreed it upon their first meeting.

Johnny had laughed, practically falling over with the force of his amusement.

And Jaehyun had watched him, his mouth curving up sweetly, and Ten had looked on.

He looks on now, having dutifully accepted Johnny’s pep talk, as Jaehyun clambers over the bed covers to wave at Ten on the phone screen. He has an eye mask on over his forehead, pushing his hair up in a comical fringe. Johnny pats it back down with a sickening expression.

Ten waves back. He keeps his smile frozen on his face as they say their goodbyes and sign off.

He lays down, and pulls the covers over his head, and listens to the wall clock ticking into the silent hours of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- these are prompts generated from lists of soulmate AUs and ships  
> \- the major dilemma of this one was: should doyoung drink a scalding hot coffee in one gulp because it’s for the Drama(TM), or not because he’s a singer and that’d probably be bad for his throat?  
> \- the drama won out  
> \- there’s a part two for this planned!  
> \- if you want to make a request… I’ll think about it


	2. jaehyun/johnny, dreaming what the other is experiencing

The river water runs swift and cold past his fingers.

He lets the river wash the resin from his hands, and then straightens. Sturdy tree trunks rise all around, up to an interlocking network of canopies overhead, like so many hands reaching out to each other and just barely meeting fingertips. The trees have countless swells and divots across their surfaces. Jaehyun has never seen their kind before.

He picks twigs from the outstretched limbs – higher up than Jaehyun would typically reach – and needles from the carpeted ground. His fingers are already sticky again. Jaehyun balks at the syrupy feeling, but perhaps the previous resin needed to be washed off lest it interfere with this new creation. In any case, the twigs and needles come closer in Jaehyun’s view, and the elegant hands begin to twist them together into an odd little figure. A head-like knob on top, an oblong body, an unclear number of limbs sticking out at angles. Jaehyun has never seen this before, either, but he pays close attention.

A lilting sound drifts through the forest’s silence.

Jaehyun pays it no mind, watching in fascination as he places the tiny tree-being down on the support of a few legs. Perhaps this little one will trundle along the forest floor, or roll on up a tree trunk? It has the excess of legs necessary to travel like an insect, and none of the freaky leg segmentations.

The melodic sound builds in volume from across the distance.

He raises a hand, then, into the passing wind, and plucks a meandering leaf out of the air. This he holds over the tree-being and crumbles in his grip, letting the fragments sift down. Jaehyun wonders if the leaf is special, or if its presence on the wind made it special. Its meeting with the tree-being sends out magical sparks.

The voice comes closer in Jaehyun’s memory as it crescendoes. He knows this voice.

The trees and the tree-being disappear into the distant echoes of sleep.

Jaehyun opens his eyes to the morning light peering through the familiar curtains of his own bedroom. His mother is singing as she kneads that morning’s bread. The inn’s guests will be stirring before long.

Jaehyun rises to meet the dawn, like always.   
  
  
  
Jaehyun has had the dreams for years at this point.

He walks dark forests when he sleeps. Some people dream of closer things, like the fountain in the next town, or even their own corner of the village, but Jaehyun has never seen a single building or being he recognized. To be fair, he knows little of the world. He can’t expect much familiarity.

But some things, he knows. He knows his soulmate’s hands are broad enough to hold four books at once, or two small children’s hands, or five river stones. He knows his soulmate’s breath freezes white in the air before him, as he leaves his mark on trails of snow Jaehyun has never seen in person.

He knows his soulmate meets strangers’ gazes head-on, heedless of any hostility. He knows his soulmate collects coin easily, since people are in need of magical charms and balms no matter where you go, but he also spends coin easily, picking up fresh plums or fine-spun yarn or finely tooled leather.

His soulmate rarely stops in one town for more than three nights at a time. He wanders through forest and vale, and creates and gives away magical trinkets in equal measure.

The trinkets come to life in his hands, and Jaehyun watches, and learns.   
  
  
  
“It’s been much too long, my dear friends!”

Jaehyun looks up from last week’s records to watch Amber trundle in through the doorway. She gives the sign a friendly slap as she passes under it. “The Dancing Heron, hopping lively as always,” she beams.

After several years, Jaehyun’s gotten used to her usual enthusiasm for most things. She passes by the town every few months, practically drowning in furs, and blasts through like a blustery storm wind. Most travelers follow the same cycle of roads as she does, but few can match her sheer amount of good cheer.

“Still here, Jae? Gosh, when are we going to see the last of you?” She grins at him to show she doesn’t mean it.

He rolls his eyes and pulls out a key for her usual room (away from the lake, facing out onto the road). “Welcome back, Amber. North winds haven’t blown you over a cliff yet, huh?”

Amber huffs, but the look in her betrays amusement. “Still stuck at the inn helping your mother out, _huh_? Tallying up records and everything! Never gonna go out on the grand adventure of your life?”

Jaehyun gives her a one-dimpled smile. “Nah.”

Mark’s behind the counter with him, polishing glasses with a determined expression. He keeps his head down. He makes no comment, but he doesn’t need to – everyone knows Mark will be gone by the time he reaches Jaehyun’s age anyway.

Amber nags at him good-naturedly as she follows him up the stairs. Every kid in town takes off almost immediately when their dreams arrive, she reminds him. Every kid in his _year_ is already long gone, out seeking soulmates, except for one straggler. Amber worries about that one straggler, you know. She always hopes she’ll run into him on the road one day, carrying a single absurdly compartmentalized travel bag like the compulsive coordinator he is.

Jaehyun silently reminds himself to sweep away the tracked dirt on the stairwell once she’s settled in.

“C’mon, even Taeil knew to pack up and get moving when his dreams started coming in every night. That kid’s happily married in a seaside cabin now! He sings sea shanties by the water! His soulmate is _completely_ bonkers for him. It’s very cute.”

Jaehyun remembers when Taeil would hum local songs under his breath as he carried the linens down the back stairwell, letting a smaller Jaehyun follow behind, collecting each pillowcase he “accidentally” dropped.

Before Jaehyun can open her room, Amber catches his hand in hers and holds it gently. He freezes.

“Jung Jaehyun.” Her face is set, unusually serious. “Really, what’s stopping you?”

“You know this,” Jaehyun says. “We’ve been over this.”

“We have,” she says, meeting his eyes steadily. “I’m sure your mother has heard it all from you too, but I promise you, she would never hold it against you. Think about it – even she, even your mother uprooted herself to come all the way here when she first started out. To build this place, sure, but also to find her soulmate.”

She unlocks the door herself and lets it swing wide open.

“This may be the only life you’ve known, but you can’t hold onto it forever.”

With that, she lets the door fall shut behind her with a _click_ of finality.

Jaehyun doesn’t know how to verbalize that he’s not just holding onto it; he’s helping hold it together. His mother, though clever and accomplished, is just one person. The neighborhood kids like Taeil and Mark, though kind and dependable, are only ever there for a year, an apprenticeship, before they go to test their fortunes against the wide world.

Everyone always leaves.

Someone has to stick around and keep the wheels turning. If that has to be Jaehyun, well…

His soulmate does plenty of wandering for the both of them, at least.   
  
  
  
Some of Jaehyun’s favorite nights are spent watching his soulmate show off his wares to village children: tiny stick-puppets that dance on their own, wool-swaddled river stones that glow to the touch. No matter where he treads, a sense of wonder accompanies his travels.

Jaehyun knows that there’s an entire world out there he’s never seen, and that seeing through his soulmate’s eyes is not exactly living. But if he can’t allow himself an adventure, he can at least indulge in this: the vicarious joy. A gangly teenager, quietly paying for a whizzing toy with pocket money, before passing it on to a delighted younger sibling. The feeling of watching them continue down the path, as the child scampers back and forth, toy in hand, and the older one brings up the rear at a steady pace.

Their mother coming up afterwards, when they’re almost out of sight, to buy extra twine for the toy’s future repair jobs. She gives a wry smile.

Many a visitor comes like this, quietly, on swift feet. They hope to aid others, but as a secret kindness.

His soulmate tucks in extra pieces when they’re not looking. He always gives easily. Jaehyun hasn’t even met him, and yet he has received so much.   
  
  
  
Jaehyun has only known the new part-timers for the better part of one day, but he’s already prepared to fight a bear for them if need be.

His mother has given him the lead on their training, and he’s doing his best to make her proud. It’s going pretty well, if he’s allowed to say so himself. Yerim asks so many questions, perfecting her precision on every task, while Donghyuck just watches with narrowed eyes and optimizes on his own. The single-minded focus is cute. They’ve only had five public mishaps, which leaves plenty of room for future improvement. Jaehyun already trusts them to uphold the stalwart reputation of the Dancing Heron.

They’re parading down the first-floor corridor when the question comes. Donghyuck catches sight of the frames on the wall and asks about the many faces that appear. Jaehyun gladly explains the inn’s long-running procession of past part-timers, doing their part for the Dancing Heron before they take off to find their soulmates and their futures. They end up exciting places, with exciting tales to tell. Everyone sends back pictures of their adventures.

The kids look appropriately awed.

“Everyone’s adventures?” Yeri turns to him with wide eyes.

Jaehyun freezes. He knows what’s coming next.

“But there aren’t any of you…”

Jaehyun’s throat closes on air; he hopes his ears aren’t red. Both kids stare at him.

He clears his throat. “Yes, well, everyone around here has seen enough of my face already,” he jokes.

Yeri is still staring at him, now thoughtful.

Donghyuck snorts. “Nah, no one would ever get tired of looking at that face.”

And they move on.   
  
  
  
But Jaehyun’s favorite nights are spent watching the act of creation, of twisting these disparate parts together into a magical whole. The careful hands picking leaves, measuring branches, polishing stones… tying knots, testing weights, smoothing surfaces.

In some way, the motions become as familiar to Jaehyun as his own regular duties. He’s always distracted when going through his own motions, mind already on the next task to be completed before the guests notice a delay, but in dreams, he’s never so hurried. He can take the time to observe a weaving in detail, to watch each careful stitch swim in and out of view in quicksilver hands.

Tonight, he has brought out a smaller knife and a length of wood. He shaves off sliver by sliver, and a palm-sized squirrel takes form in his hand. It’s a little improbably long, but still recognizable. He gifts it to the kind woman who had led him to the forest spring that morning.

Her mouth quirks up in fond amusement.

In the following nights, he brings out the knife more often, whittling his way down to smaller and smaller pieces. Eventually, he reaches wood chunks the size of apples, then acorns, and then even smaller, to the point of looking comically small in his elongated hands. These, he begins to etch careful designs onto: a crooked circle centered around a single scraggly line. A rough boat-like shape atop crested waves. Perhaps a bit more obviously representational than his soulmate’s works usually are.

He holds the tiny beads to the light, turning them every which way, then tucks them into a pouch at his hip.

As always, Jaehyun is intrigued, but baffled. As always, he watches, rapt and charmed in spite of himself.   
  
  
  
“Who gave you permission to grow so much, huh?”

Jaehyun gives Mark an affectionate ribbing the instant he walks in the door. While Mark cringes away from the embrace, Jaehyun catalogs the changes in his younger friend: lean muscle from lifting and working on a commercial ship deck, a light tan from the sun reflecting off the waves. Then Jaehyun releases him, to see what fresh havoc will result when Mark meets the new kids.

He gets on with Donghyuck and Yerim like an inn on a festival day: loud, busy, and with a promise of minor collateral damage. Jaehyun particularly enjoys the look on Mark’s face when Donghyuck starts mocking his seafaring slang after every sentence.

Later, when they’ve all settled around the central hearth, Mark tells them tales, making expansive motions with his hands. He tells tales of the nearest port city: how it practically grows out of the mountainside, sheltering the cove that lets the ships farther in. How it looks from a distance, strange spikes rising out of the fog, until they materialize into the pointed rooftop spires that are distinctive to their region. (Donghyuck groans at this – _everyone_ here has seen the pointy roofs before, Mark.) Mark insists that the feeling is still different, watching them grow out of the gray blankness over the sea. It feels like coming home, and arriving at a magical new city, all at once. But wait ‘til you hear about the _capital_ , and its crossing footbridges that rise over the cart traffic –

Jaehyun smiles to himself a little, leaning back to let the kids have their banter.

Everyone leaves, but everyone comes back in their own time, sooner or later.   
  
  
  
Over time, Jaehyun has come to understand that he will just never come to understand some of the finer workings of magic. He doesn’t have the eye for it, the whimsical mind, even if he shares his sleeping hours with a full-time wizard.

Some nights are just plain baffling. Tonight, Jaehyun can do nothing but watch and wonder.

He filters water through a hemp-woven net, letting the stream flow through with great care, even though the net is far too coarse to trap anything smaller than mid-sized fish. If Jaehyun brought that net out on the lake, he’d be laughed off of boat and barge. There’s no one else around to laugh here, however. The water falls into a misshapen basin, rough-hewn as if with a stone instead of a proper tool. It was, in fact. Jaehyun watched its creation with no small amount of consternation just two days ago. The basin fills nearly to the brim, and then he lets it settle for a moment, and then he raises his hand over the water, releasing a twig to plop in the center. The twig has been sharpened to points at either end, in rough strokes, like the ends of the lake-faring boats in Jaehyun’s town.

He watches it revolve, at a crawl.

The twig comes to a gradual stop, pointing away into the half-lit forest, or perhaps back at Jaehyun’s soulmate himself. It’s a matter of perspective.

He packs up and starts walking.   
  
  
  
“Jaehyun, Jaehyun! Check it out!”

Jaehyun answers without looking. “We’re not buying it, Donghyuck.”

“C’mon, you could at least look! The auntie says it’s a great deal – it’s in season and overstocked right now!”

“I’m sure it is, but we have to stay on budget, and we don’t have a use yet for random things, like your –” Jaehyun turns to examine it – “ _what_ is that?”

“Giant mandrake root!” Donghyuck brandishes it proudly. Its appendages… jiggle.

Jaehyun walks away without a word.

A couple of minutes later, Donghyuck reappears at his side, hands empty, thankfully. “You’re just too lazy and boring to try out something new,” he sulks. “Yerim would’ve put in the effort to figure out how to cook it.”

“Yerim would’ve shoved it in a random dish and charmed the patrons into eating it no matter what it looked like,” Jaehyun retorts. “Maybe she could’ve even convinced them to say it was good.”

As expected, Donghyuck wanders away again within five minutes. Jaehyun continues through the market on his regular circuit, and wonders, not for the first time, what the shopping districts in the port cities are like. Do they squeeze into packed side streets, like the one he’s walking through, or lay out in neat lines across an open marketplace? Mark would have been able to tell him.

Sometimes he wonders what his soulmate thinks, watching him spend days on end in the same two-story building, wiping off the same tables and stoking the same hearths. Making the same beds, walking the same streets, welcoming and seeing off a procession of part-timers who come and go with every summer. Steaming the same fish, every day, too – their inn is famous for that signature dish, freshly caught from the lake. They pull in gleaming piles of fish every morning.

Jaehyun buys the same set of five vegetables from the same stall every Saturday.

The stallkeeper sees his approach and raises a cool eyebrow. “Jaehyun.”

He tries to fend off the questions with a preemptive dimple-smile. “Hi, auntie. You know what I’m here for.”

She snorts even as she pulls together the vegetables from different piles with deft hands. “I do, do I? Are you so sure? Do you even know what you’re clinging onto after all this time?”

He accepts the groceries with both hands. “Of course I know. I have to stick around for my sweet aunties. How could I go on without seeing your lovely face every week?”

She laughs, but not at his joke. “You’d make do. You can look in the mirror anytime you want.”

Jaehyun flushes in spite of himself.

The auntie sends him on with an overflowing basket and a firm hand on his shoulder.   
  
  
  
The salty spray is cold on his cheeks.

The ship deck rolls under his feet with the waves, and he barely stays on his feet with each incoming swell. He’d negotiated his passage in exchange for talismans for fair winds and safe travels, pressed into each sailor’s hand at the beginning of the voyage, and then tucked away into their uniforms somewhere. Then he’d tried to do his part and help out on deck, but his lack of seafaring experience became almost immediately obvious. Jaehyun had expected to see calm seas, after the talismans changed hands, but perhaps “fair winds” and “safe travels” are a subjective evaluation. The sailors seem unfazed.

He can barely stay upright. Now, at another wave, he stumbles, and a gruff woman comes to gently shove him towards the cabins below. He stays there for the rest of the trip, folded over on a cot, head almost between his knees. Jaehyun aches to brush his hair back and squeeze his hands between his own.

Hours pass. The ship’s rocking eases.

Eventually, he rises at some call Jaehyun can’t hear. He takes the steps two at a time, more impatient than ever before, and half-trips over the top stair. The same woman comes to grab his arm and steady him.

He emerges to the sight of a port that rises out of the fog, metallic spires climbing up almost as far as the eye can see. The tapered points layer over each other, guiding the eye up the mountainside, looming over the cove that cuts inward into the land. They’re harder to see up close, when he walks between the buildings and cranes his head up. He ends up focusing on the streets ahead instead, where doors open and close and spill out with reckless children and harried errand-runners and lively street hawkers.

When Jaehyun wakes in the morning, he can almost hear the mingled chorus of voices bubbling all around him.

Jaehyun watches the door just a bit more closely, that day.

His mother watches him.   
  
  
  
The glint of the afternoon sun on the golden fields is as familiar to Jaehyun as his own weathered inn walls. Far closer in his heart than his soulmate’s towering forests, though he has grown to love watching them pass by in his soulmate’s eyes.

He walks by humble farmhouses and brimming lakes. The path is rough but well-trodden under his feet, a regular trade route between the nearest port and the inland mountains. Taeil walked this trail, years ago, before Jaehyun had even fully grown; Mark passes this way every few years, with new calluses and new stories; Amber knows this dusty road better than she knows any home or inn that lies along it.

They all know to guide their tired feet to the Dancing Heron when that wooden sign comes into view. And Jaehyun will take their coats, and cook their meals, and welcome them to tell their new stories once again.

As he goes, he carves more of the mysterious beads, in the half-light of dusk when he sets up camp for the night. He carves a fish, leaping from the water in bold strokes. Then he carves a heron, dancing in shallow water, and Jaehyun can’t breathe, all of a sudden.

Jaehyun drinks in the familiar sights greedily, his hope rising as he sees the crest of each oncoming hill, only to face yet another stretch of winding road ahead. He spends his waking hours with his heart in his throat, these days. His mother takes it in stride; the part-timers give him sidelong looks. He performs his daily tasks in a daze. He can never rush the days fast enough.

He walks at a brisk pace, yet still not quickly enough.   
  
  
  
He awoke this morning with the sensation of cool lake water on his fingers. Small fish darting in the shallows, brushing past his hands with little fear.

The thought of it keeps playing through his mind as he goes. His fingers itch to capture that feeling of carefree ease, of placid ripples and thoughtless fish and a morning free of obligations – he could use a few stones from the side of the road, where unhurried travelers linger, or a shell he’d picked up on the coastline, untethered and yet carrying the waves with it wherever it goes. He can almost feel the charm taking form in his hands.

But more than anything, Johnny aches to clasp his soulmate’s hands in his own.

He has had a song within him, all this time, bearing his feet forward with a steady beat. A song about kind eyes, and sure hands, and regular Saturday market circuits. He doesn’t know his soulmate’s name, but he knows his welcoming heart. The song swells in his chest with each hill he mounts.

His steady feet bring him over the final hill, to the lake, and then the doorway with the familiar sign swinging overhead, and then…   
  
  
  
Jaehyun meets him at the door.   
  
  
  
Johnny has traced countless paths with his ceaseless travels. Jaehyun has traced countless paths with his awakening dreams. Johnny has not strayed from the winding road for a long time; Jaehyun has never left his town in his entire life.

Everyone arrives, sooner or later. Some follow the dreams, and some watch them draw closer. Some come to the door and let someone in.

Some must travel far and wide, it is true. There are forests to wander and seas to cross. People to help, and charms to give away like little secrets cupped between careful palms. Mountains to scale, and storms to bear, and still more, and yet.

They need a home to travel towards, and there, someone must keep the hearth warm, the flagstones tidy.

Johnny will set off again, as he is wont to do, and he will be welcome wherever he goes, but his dreams will always lead him true. He’ll tire of the road, and he will be welcome whenever he comes, because his dreams will always lead him home. In the meantime, his dreams will tide him over: steady hands kneading dough. Preparing fish. Greeting new guests, making beds, stoking fires. Ruffling Donghyuck’s hair, holding Yerim close, sending them off when they begin to dream. Ushering in the new helpers, weighing produce with the old stall-keepers, sipping tea with his ever-patient mother at a table facing the road.

Fiddling with a string of beads, wooden and worn, feeling over each carving and knowing its story.

The years will pass, and Jaehyun will greet each one like an old friend, stomping in through the door in well-worn boots.

Jaehyun will keep a merry blaze going in the hearth, and a place in his heart warm and lit.

But for now, he rises from his seat by the back as if in a dream, striding to the door. It’s like he’s wading through water, or pushing through snow. He can’t stumble over fast enough. His soulmate is smiling as he approaches. Clasps his hands when he draws near.

For now, he looks up to those laughing eyes, and smiles his sweetest smile, and feels content.

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I think maybe I am incapable of writing a drabble just as a small drabble. I think maybe I am not alone in this  
> \- might have actually hit my own feels on this one...  
> \- for clarification: soulmates don’t dream of what the other is doing at that exact moment, because then if they’re together, they’ll just watch each other sleep in some kind of dreamception haha  
> \- they dream of what the other person has done that day  
> \- I specifically tried to keep scenes down to their most important points here, because I feel like sometimes I get bogged down explaining too many details  
> \- I also experimented with unclear pronoun usage! I thought maybe it'd suit this, since most of the narration is dreaming


	3. lucas/kun, seeing in color when they meet

“I bet five sodas Yukhei sees him and just freezes in his tracks like a baby deer,” Hendery declares. Yukhei groans. “A really cute one,” Hendery adds, consolingly.

“I bet he trips over nothing and knocks over an entire backdrop,” Yangyang chimes in.

“I will do no such thing,” Yukhei insists. “I’m a charismatic performer with a sexy face! The April _Cosmopolitan_ issue said so!”

“A charismatic performer with a face and the innocent heart of a child,” Yangyang sighs.

“We love your innocent heart, Yukhei,” Hendery tells him sincerely. Yukhei doesn’t buy it. “It brings us so much entertainment.”

“This is bullying!” Yukhei turns towards the front seat, where their manager is typing furiously on her phone. “Jie, tell them to stop bullying me!”

She doesn’t look up. “Boys, stop bullying Yukhei,” she says, in the most monotone voice ever.

Yukhei is undeterred. “I bet if Dejun was here, he’d stick up for me.” Dejun, of all people, would have the decency not to mock Yukhei’s innocent feelings of idolization. Dejun has an entire shrine to the Thai singer Ten in his dorm.

“Dejun bet that you’d get so distracted, you’d mess up your cues when we perform our new title track onstage.”

Is there no one Yukhei can trust in this cruel world?

“You know what? I bet I’ll impress _him_ , and I’ll show off so much charisma during the live that he’ll beg _me_ for a collaboration!” Yukhei can see it now: some kind of uptempo hip-hop track, like his group’s regular fare, but with Qian Kun’s light vocals sprinkled on top. Or a song more in Qian Kun’s classic ballad style, peppered with some thoughtful slow raps from Yukhei. He’d be down for anything, if it’s with Kun.

Qian Kun: solo artist and performer extraordinaire. A ridiculously cool dude who produces his own music, and edits his own vlogs, and prepares thoughtful snacks for his fans (of whom Yukhei’s so jealous – he’s not allowed to attend another idol’s concert in the open like that), and all in all reaches maximum levels of husband material. He has sincerity, and musicality, and approachability, and versatility… all concepts children like Hendery and Yangyang could never understand.

Yukhei’s members don’t let up for the rest of the ride there, reminding Yukhei of all the ways he could embarrass himself in front of his longtime idol. He does his best to fight back: Yukhei’s a man of stage presence! Maybe he’ll leave Kun starstruck! Maybe Kun will want to attend one of their concerts one day…

None of them could have predicted the shock that would follow that day.  
  
  
  
They’re just filing into the filming location when it happens. Their manager is pushing them along towards the waiting room. A few crew members are still rushing around with set pieces and props – there’s a lot of mysterious unmarked boxes going around, and Yukhei wants to know what’s up with that – and he looks around quickly to size up their fellow variety guests. There’s one of them standing by the front, and Yukhei would know that perfectly coiffed hair anywhere!

Qian Kun turns around and looks back at him.

Yukhei can’t even comprehend what he’s seeing at first. It’s like his brain is exploding and leaking out his ears. It’s like a truck barrelled into him, and now he’s barfing paint everywhere… Holy shit, this is color.

He meets Kun’s stunned eyes. They’re a lovely shade of brown.

Oh my god, he’s even better in color.

Oh my god, _Qian Kun_ is Yukhei’s soulmate.

“Oh my god,” he hears one of his members whisper behind him. “We have to get a video of this and show Dejun.”

That, of all things, knocks Yukhei out of his daze. He can’t let his members go behind his back like this. He’s running a tight ship here!

He clears his throat, even though he can’t find any words to say, and gives Kun a half-bow in greeting from across the entire room. He’s very far away. This probably looks weird. Kun nods back, a wondering expression on his face.

“Yukhei, that’s your soulmate! Qian Kun is your soulmate! This is so great,” Hendery gushes.

“We should introduce ourselves to him properly later,” Yangyang says. He side-eyes Yukhei. “Give him an idea of what he’s in for with this bozo here.”

Yukhei tries and fails to cuff him on the ear.

There’s more Romantic Feelings to sort through here, but Yukhei shakes it off as they walk into their waiting room. _Get your head in the game, Yukhei._ He’s still on the clock. The swooning can wait until he’s back in their dorm.

He turns to his team and pumps his fist. “Guys, we’re going to crush this!!”

“You’re going to crush your soulmate?” Yangyang snarks.

This sends Yukhei into an immediate crisis, pacing back and forth across the tiny room. “Oh my god… what if he thinks I’m too much. What if I scare him off? Should I dial it back? But what if he thinks I’m not passionate?”

Hendery snorts. “Yukhei, I don’t think he’s going to judge your passion based off of five rounds of kids’ games.”

And he’s probably right, but once Yukhei’s in crisis mode, it’s hard to shake off. He doesn’t have the time for it anyway – a PD is calling them to the set from outside. It’s go time.

Yukhei faces the full episode cast and gulps.

“Alright, time to crush Yukhei’s soulmate!” Yangyang cheers.  
  
  
  
Yukhei is stuck.

Trapped. Immobile. Sabotaged by an insidious design.

He’s gotten his hand stuck in a mystery box.

Standing across from him, Kun waits patiently, instead of taking advantage of his opponent’s momentary handicap, the way Yukhei’s team would have. If this were Hendery or Yangyang, Yukhei would already be yelling about cheating, but Kun _of course_ is the very picture of grace and honor. Yukhei’s swooning.

He’d felt a little fluttery, when he first stepped up to the challenge and realized Kun was representing the other team. But Yukhei brushed it off. He just dove right in, like always, even if he was up against his soulmate.

Because that’s how Yukhei is. Why be cool when you can just bulldoze into any interaction and ruin their first impression of you?

Sure, he was paired up with Kun, and sure, it was probably rigged – he should’ve known the producers would eat up the prospect of soulmate romance – but hey, he brushed hands with Qian Kun! What was he supposed to do, keep his cool and not flail around? Playing up his reactions for variety is his job! His role in the group!

Also, Kun’s hands are really soft.

But that’s beside the point. This box clearly can’t handle Yukhei’s sheer amount of presence and personhood. This is discrimination against people with large hands!!

Yangyang would say people with large hands and small brains, but there’s a reason Lucas is the leader and not him. Minions and sidekicks don’t get to have an opinion!

Kun keeps patting his shoulder soothingly. Yukhei’s trying not to swoon too obviously, but it’s a Herculean task. Even so, Yukhei will prevail somehow.

It takes several minutes, but eventually, Yukhei is finally freed from his tiny plastic prison, and his team takes care of him. Hendery runs to fetch him some water. (He’s familiar with how quickly Yukhei dries his throat out running his mouth, especially when he can’t run off energy physically.) Yangyang thoughtfully massages Yukhei’s hand to encourage circulation. Yukhei takes back everything he ever said about Yangyang, and tells him so.

Yangyang gives him a cute smile and a _particularly_ firm massage.  
  
  
  
Yukhei and Kun are facing each other again.

This time, they stare each other down from either side of a wide beam, suspended above a pool. The challenge is to knock each other off, sitting on the precarious beam, without touching the water. A classic physical showdown.

Physical challenges are great. Yukhei can handle that. He has the hours of gym time to prepare him for this, and the muscle definition to make fans blush while he does it. But wait, Kun gets in regular exercise time too – Yukhei remembers this from an interview last year. The man runs several kilometers each morning, before his idol schedule kicks off, which is kind of insane. Yukhei has never quite managed that level of willpower, but maybe he could, for Kun, and join him for romantic jogs in the light of the predawn sky…

But that’s a thought for later.

Yukhei squares his shoulders and meets Kun’s challenging stare head-on.

The whistle blows, and they’re off.

Yukhei loses his head a bit when he feels Kun’s arms around him –it’s warm! Kun’s unflattering variety tracksuit doesn’t do his nice arms any justice! – and some way or another, he finds himself going over, tumbling towards the depths, grabbing onto the nearest handhold, dangling above the water, clutching Kun’s leg for dear life…

It’s all very romantic. Kun’s legs are pretty nice, too.

He’d had hope, but alas, it was not to be.

Yukhei cries out Kun’s name as he falls into the darkness.

(Damn, even when he’s kicking Yukhei off into oblivion, Kun still looks sexy. Yukhei totally digs a strong competitive spirit.)

Not one to be outdone, Yukhei does his best to play up his dramatic surfacing from the water. He flips his dripping hair back over his forehead, lets his wet shirt cling to his abs and everything, but Kun… isn’t looking in his direction. Kun’s team is rushing to help him off the beam, smothering him with high fives and congratulations. Which is fine. Kun deserves all the support.

At least the fans will have a field day.

Yukhei tries not to pout.  
  
  
  
By the time the director calls a wrap on the recording, Yukhei is absolutely pooped. Just about ready to take a nap on the floor right then and there. He couldn’t before, not while cameras might still be rolling, but the idea was nice to imagine. Unfortunately, there were industry seniors around, and adoring teammates, and even a lovely soulmate…

Alright. He breathes out a sigh of relief. Okay, now he can take a moment, hopefully collect Kun’s number, and then go try to calm down in the relative safety of their dorm. (Relative. No one can ever feel completely at ease with Hendery or Yangyang in the building.)

He has a lot of thoughts to process here. Thoughts about early morning runs, and devastating smiles, and maybe even ridiculously cheesy soulmate collabs in the future.

He’ll think through some… stuff, and then reach a feeling of equilibrium, and finally feel like maybe he’s ready to have a soulmate, and then he’ll pace around the dorm for hours in anxiety until one or more of his members strongarms him into facing his fear, and _then_ maybe he’ll manage to ask Kun out –

“Hey, Yukhei.” Kun smiles up at him. “Want to go grab dinner?”

Yukhei crumples to the ground and holds his face in his hands.

“ _Yukhei?_ ” A warm hand falls on Yukhei’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s… recovering.” Yukhei’s group pipes up. Thank god for the strength of their brotherhood.

“From what?” Kun sounds more concerned every minute.

“From your stunning smile,” one of them answers, and oh. His bros are covering for him, and even _flirting_ for him. Yukhei should probably get it together.

He clears his throat too loudly, picks himself up off the ground, and blurts out, “I-I’d love to!”

Kun startles at the sudden movement.

Yukhei barrels on. “Dinner. Yeah!”

And with that graceful agreement, they’re off on a date.

Yukhei’s members send him off with friendly waves (and rolled eyes when he gives them a panicked look). He’s about one hundred percent sure he’ll screw this up somehow. He’ll spill sauce all over his pants, or all over _Kun’s_ pants, and then he’ll have left his phone with the manager and be unable to pay the dry-cleaning bill or something, and then…

But hey, maybe it’ll turn out okay.

For now, Yukhei squeezes Kun’s hand in his own, and giggles uncontrollably at his jokes. Kun keeps smiling indulgently at him. It sets off fireworks in his stomach.

Hand in hand, they stride into a new world of color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- inspired by all the episodes of Keep Running! I’ve watched (sadly none of the ones with Yukhei)  
> \- I’ve definitely seen all of these games/activities on variety shows before (I wanted to include a scene with kittens, but I didn't quite work it out. just imagine Yukhei holding many tiny kittens in his large hands and giggling helplessly, and Kun looking on fondly)  
> \- for a prompt about seeing in color this has almost nothing to do with colors lol  
> \- I wasn’t expecting Yukhei’s narration to turn out this anxious. ah well. I’m very endeared. he's just a giant goober, full of love, trying his best


	4. ten/jungwoo, shared dreams

Something eases in Ten’s chest at the sight of the tall figure, sitting demurely to one side of the bench. Even after all these years, all these dreams returning to this same cliff overlook on Phylaxis B, he still has a moment where his heart leaps into his throat as he rounds the last bend. What if there’s no one there?

He makes a point to crunch the fallen leaves underfoot and announce his presence. The figure’s head doesn’t turn.

“Is this spot taken?” Ten asks lightly, patting the other side of the bench.

An undignified snort. “Yeah, I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” He turns, finally, and his little smirk twists up Ten’s insides. “He left me here all alone, can you believe it?”

Ten gasps. “Oh no, who could leave a pretty thing like you by yourself?”

They both giggle.

Jungwoo raises his hand, palm open to reveal a pebble. They both fall silent as it rises slowly in this dream-planet’s fickle gravity, as if drawn up by an invisible puppet string. Jungwoo follows under it with his hand and traps it again.

A moment passes, interminably long yet in the space between heartbeats, in their dream.

Ten nudges at Jungwoo. “How’s the crew?”

“Fine.”

_Has Yukhei gotten it together, or is he still using captain privileges to hold everyone back?_ Ten wonders, but knows better than to ask. “Yukhei’s doing alright?” he asks mildly.

Jungwoo shoots him a look. Clearly he wasn’t mild enough.

Jungwoo opens his mouth, reconsiders, and closes it.

Clearly Yukhei hasn’t gotten it together, and Ten might have to raise the issue with Taeyong for the second time in as many months. Sure, Taeyong can’t help much from several galactic warps away, and Jungwoo will probably give Ten the silent treatment for interfering, but… Yukhei is Ten’s friend first, and his soulmate’s captain second. Ten can’t let him wallow in his fears forever. Yukhei can do more, can _be_ more than the wet noodle he’s acting like, paralyzed with paranoia and indecision. Accidents happen on landing expeditions all the time. Yukhei just has to learn to handle them.

Also, a decline in exploration reports is grounds for dismissal from his captaincy. And then the entire crew will end up grounded on some backwater planet, in mission limbo, and then what’ll Jungwoo do?

Hold a grudge against Ten for the interference anyway, Ten admits to himself.

But that’s a spat for another time.

“How’s Kun’s new chick settling in?” Ten tries again. “Has Kun fed him into a coma yet?”

Jungwoo snorts. (Ten relaxes minutely.) “Hardly.”

“Seriously? Has Kun finally met his match?”

A half-shrug. “The kid could mow down all of our rations in one go if Kun let him.”

They just continue like this, trading questions for one-word answers. Ten lifts a hand, starts fiddling with the hair on the nape of Jungwoo’s neck, already prepared for him to flinch away. (His startled reactions are cute.) But Jungwoo doesn’t seem to notice.

Jungwoo just leans into Ten, slides an arm through his, and looks far into the distance.

“Why aren’t you asking about your former crew, huh? Outgrown us old-timers already?” Ten tickles at Jungwoo’s neck teasingly.

He feels Jungwoo tensing under his hand; his soulmate looks away.

Ten waits.

Jungwoo tosses the pebble down over the cliff’s edge. They watch in silence as it returns, arcing up and off towards the distant tree-tops. Jungwoo has always delighted in playing with their dream point’s improbable gravity.

Jungwoo seems to come to a resolution, and slumps into Ten.

“Are you… ever afraid?”

Ten considers this. “Of what?”

“Or, maybe not afraid, but. Worried. Anxious?”

Now that the pebble’s gone, Jungwoo’s palms are empty. He fills the space with Ten’s hands, fiddling with his fingers.

“It’s just, there’s an entire universe out there, and it’s full of exciting things, and that’s why I became an exploration officer, y’know? And that’s how I became an officer-in-training, and joined the crew, and met my soulmate –” he gives Ten a little smile – “and all of that. And now I’m a full officer, with the uniform and everything, and Yukhei and I and – and everyone are taking off to who knows where, and that’s exciting too! But it’s also… full of unknown things.”

Ten nods.

Jungwoo hurries on as if the breath is rushing out of him all at once. “Did you know, we weren’t even supposed to touch ground on that planet? We were supposed to back off, to stay in orbit and observe from a distance, but Yukhei thought we could run a little recon anyway, since the ground scans looked fine…”

Where has Ten heard that one before, he thinks, but he holds off the amusement.

“And then, well, you know what happened. It’s kind of funny, actually. Here we are – Yukhei and me – still freaking out over it, but then you have Jaemin running around like nothing happened, when _he’s_ the one with the right to be scared, y’know? But no, he’s just using it as an excuse to boss Yangyang around while his arm heals.”

That sounds just like Jaemin and Yangyang, to be honest.

“And I… just don’t know how to feel about any of it. Part of me just wants to keep Jaemin grounded forever, which would be terrible. But I –” Jungwoo grimaces. “I just don’t know.”

Ten massages the back of his neck, and Jungwoo sags into the soothing touch. He’s a very tactile person, Ten has learned. Ten accepts hugs as gladly as any other isolated space wanderer, but Jungwoo thrives on the contact, used to cling to the nearest available crew member at every opportunity, when they explored together. He probably still does now, even. Jaemin probably accepts it with an awkward smile; Yukhei probably draws him closer without really noticing. Ten scowls at the thought.

He draws in a breath.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

He feels Jungwoo’s answering nod.

“I introduced you to the guys,” he continues, “and said something stupid about how you’d have to help me drag them out into the field all the time. But, you know – a lot of the time, it’s them dragging me back, too, before I get my head lopped off or something. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my sense of self-preservation isn’t great.”

“Makes you wonder where I learned it from,” Jungwoo teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. But that’s because they’re looking out for me, and they have the years of experience to know when I’m in over my head, yeah? We’ve all learned over time. We’re still learning all the time, too, but we have each other to count on. You’re not alone when you’re afraid, and Jaemin’s not alone when he runs around like nothing can hurt him, and Yukhei’s not alone while he’s… fermenting in anxiety, or whatever it is he’s doing.”

Jungwoo pokes at him. “Leave my noisy captain alone.”

“Okay, fine,” Ten laughs. “But my point stands. Jaemin’s a good officer, too. Somewhere deep down.” Jungwoo rolls his eyes. “And he has you to keep him in line, and you have him to keep things exciting. And all those other random people on your ship. And yeah, we don’t know what’s out there, but that’s why we’re not going off alone. We’re launching off with friends, and annoying kids, and neurotic captains, and having these wild adventures, and… and in the end, I think having people there makes it easier. Makes it worthwhile, even. The adventures balance out the uncertainty.”

At the end of it all, it’s worth it.

“Besides, who knows what kind of primordial swamp Mark would trip into if he didn’t have helpful older brothers around to catch him. Can you imagine?” Ten throws his hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

Jungwoo’s light laughter loosens the knot growing in his chest.

Ten lets that relieved feeling settle in, even as he goes on teasing Jungwoo and listening to him laugh. He’d been worried, when he first met Jungwoo, and saw how quiet he was at first. That faded as they ran missions together, but then Jungwoo received a promotion to full officer, and moved on to his own crew, and Ten worried again. He needn’t have. Jungwoo is as well-loved as ever, making new friends off on other planets with his quiet charms. All this love is only as much as Jungwoo has always deserved. Ten is so, so glad they’ve met. That they continue to meet, in their way, when they sleep.

At the end of it all, there’s this: Jungwoo, with his hand in Ten’s, his eyes full of stars. Ten has explored them time and again, and yet there will always be more to discover. There will always be Jungwoo, in his dreams or in his arms, singing sweetly or laughing loudly or heckling his own captain from a distance. Jungwoo will always be the boy of his dreams.

Stars, the crew would give Ten so much crap if they could hear how cheesy he’s getting right now.

Luckily for Ten, Yuta is none the wiser when he bursts into Ten’s unit to badger him into wakefulness. There’s a new system within range on the ship’s radar, and they’re running low on fresh rations, and Taeyong might actually burst a vein if they’re not all on the bridge in fifteen, so it’s a matter of life and death – as Yuta tells it, at least. Ten has some doubts, but he’s on his feet anyway.

He still feels the phantom of Jungwoo’s warmth at his side. Yuta’s already off down the hall, jabbering away at a sleepily bemused Guanheng. Ten lets that fade into background noise.

For just a moment, Ten raises his head to the endless stars overhead, and imagines Jungwoo gazing back across the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- whenever I think about writing this, I end up with WayV’s “Moonwalk” stuck in my head haha  
> \- apparently “phylaxis” is actually a word, and now I’m confused as all heck because I have no idea where I’ve encountered it  
> \- this is me challenging myself to practice writing as much plot and dialogue as possible in a single scene.  
> it was somewhat angstier at one point, when I was planning it, but then this came out instead  
> \- I wanted to write the crew heckling Ten for waxing sappy about his boyfriend, but I didn’t end up working it in. oh well  
> \- not sure how satisfied I am with this? but this was one heckin week to get through, hence the delay in this chapter. in other news, tomorrow's my birthday! I guess this is my birthday present to me haha


	5. donghyuck/yukhei, emotional link

Walking into the regional orchestra practice room on his first rehearsal, Donghyuck feels nothing but a thrill of excitement in his veins. He’s here! He’s in! He’s got first chair! The audition judges recognized his skill and hours of practice!

Nothing less than he’s due, of course, but the worry was still there.

This gonna be great. He’s even here a bit early, because his older brother insisted on making a good first impression, or something lame like that. (Get with the program, Youngho. It’s the era of living loud and unapologetically proud.) He’ll just put his case down, set out his sheet music, make sure he’s got pencils and valve oil and everything, maybe duck out to refill his water bottle…

His plan is thwarted before it can even begin.

There’s someone sitting in his seat.

Donghyuck feels the ire rising in his throat as he picks his away around the tiered band chairs. He worked his butt off to get first chair. He practiced to the point of numb lips for this seat. Donghyuck didn’t put up with Jeno flipping around all of his complaints to tease him about a makeout sesh he never had, just to put up with _this_. Who does this guy think he is, taking Donghyuck’s rightful place?

Oh, he’s turned all the way to face the guy next to him. Maybe he’s just chatting with someone, and Donghyuck can gracefully eject him, accept his apologetic groveling, and continue on his way. Don’t jump the gun again, Donghyuck, he reminds himself.

But then he notices another crucial detail: the interloper has a trumpet case between his legs.

This means war.

This means a personal attack on Donghyuck’s pride as a trumpet player, but that still doesn’t mean he needs to go all out on it. He’s going to have to sit next to this guy, at least for the rest of this semester. Better to try to be diplomatic about it. Maybe the guy doesn’t realize the slight he’s dealt to Donghyuck’s pride, Donghyuck thinks optimistically.

Well, here he comes. Donghyuck has reached the brass section.

Before Donghyuck can figure out how to start off, he trips over a music stand. The guy in his seat turns around at the clatter.

Donghyuck sees his face and blanks out.

“You’re in my seat.”

The guy looks a bit taken aback – Donghyuck even feels a little taken aback at himself; usually he has a better brain-to-mouth filter than this – but recovers quickly.

“Oh, hey, dude, fellow trumpet!” He gestures at the case in Donghyuck’s hands, as if Donghyuck hadn’t noticed. “Best instrument, am I right? Or am I _right_?”

“Nope,” his friend mutters.

Donghyuck feels a flash of amusement in spite of himself, buried under a rush of annoyance. A trumpet anti, huh? Well, that’s just fine. Have fun with your endless oom-pah upbeats, peon.

The first guy’s smile freezes on his face. Hopefully he can’t read the petty direction of Donghyuck’s thoughts from his face, but hey, Donghyuck’s not about to take any of it back. Anyway, time to get back on track. Donghyuck raises a brow. “Look, can I just sit down?”

Instead of a response, he gets a weirdly loud laugh. Donghyuck is a little on edge now. The guy grins at him, almost manically wide. “Hey, dude, aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

Donghyuck sighs and holds up three fingers. “Lee Donghyuck,” one finger down, “first trumpet first chair,” second finger down, “rightful owner of this chair,” all fingers down. He puts down his fist.

“Well, hey, this chair doesn’t _belong_ to you,” the chair-stealer says fake-imperiously. “This chair is the property of the amazing regional orchestra!” He tries to pin Donghyuck with a disapproving stare, but tough luck. Donghyuck has years of experience heckling section leaders; he can handle this guy any day. He meets the stare head on.

The chair-stealer relents. “Or, like, this school building, or something,” he finishes weakly.

His friend suddenly pipes up from the side. “Yukhei, you haven’t introduced yourself yet.”

“Dejun, you spoiled it,” Yukhei groans.

Donghyuck resists the urge to give this non-trumpet some side-eye. Is this guy completely incapable of reading the mood? There’s some high-profile first trumpet posturing going on here.

But then Yukhei invades Donghyuck’s personal space with an outstretched hand instead of waiting for a handshake like a civilized person, and the battle of wills rages on. Donghyuck does his best to crush Yukhei’s hand. Yukhei responds in kind, and then brushes off the challenge like it’s nothing. Donghyuck sasses his inability to introduce himself instead of letting someone else do it for him. Yukhei points out that Donghyuck probably wouldn’t have even said anything if Yukhei hadn’t prodded him into it. And so on.

If this weren’t such a serious matter of first chair pride, Donghyuck might even say he’s having fun. He feels periodic bursts of amusement, sure, but he’s probably losing it due to proximity to Yukhei’s contagious dumbassery. Donghyuck hadn’t expected to have to hold his own so early in the morning.

He should’ve forced Youngho to share his coffee this morning. What kind of chauffeur of an older brother doesn’t offer complimentary mooching opportunities? It’s a disgrace.

Maybe then Donghyuck would’ve had enough _oomph_ behind him to handle Yukhei, and Yukhei’s… everything.

He hates Yukhei’s over-wide smile, and his over-large hands when he makes big motions, and his stupidly long legs when he somehow manages to manspread even _more_ across _Donghyuck’s seat_. Even Yukhei’s stupidly well-kept and polished trumpet, when he takes it out for no apparent reason other than to flex his tidy trumpet maintenance habits on Donghyuck, since he clearly can’t outclass the first chair any other way.

After several minutes, Dejun cuts in on the confrontation again. “Guys, chill, it’s almost time. Save this for when the conductor’s ready to nail someone in the eye with her baton.”

Donghyuck might actually deck someone. “Why would we do that?” he demands, completely baffled and at the end of his patience.

But even as he says it, there’s a twinge of fondness in his chest, and he struggles to place it. He’s never seen this guy before, and he certainly has no reason to feel affection. What the hell? Is he getting soft-hearted?

In the back of his mind, Donghyuck registers Yukhei’s stare on his face. Is he expecting Donghyuck’s whip-crack snark again at Dejun’s interruption? Or is Donghyuck radiating his confusion, or maybe annoyance? Whatever it is, he’d better get that under control.

There’s a burst of surprise from somewhere in Donghyuck’s mind. A dawning sense of realization, even as Yukhei leans forward in his seat, eyes widening.

What? What’s Donghyuck’s subconscious realizing? What’s _Yukhei_ realizing? Looking at Yukhei’s stunned face almost feels like a mirror for the confusing feelings rising in Donghyuck, but that’s impossible unless –

Oh. Oh no.

They react at the same time. “It’s _you_?” Donghyuck shrieks. “It’s you!” Yukhei says delightedly.

They stare at each other for a moment. There’s excitement rising over Donghyuck’s mind. Now that he’s paying attention, he can tell the excitement comes with a weird fizzy feeling to it, like pop rocks in his stomach, something external affecting his insides. It layers over his own dismay as if it’s a physical sensation.

Well damn. That’s a soulmate emotional link.

Yukhei smirks at him. A curl of amusement through his mind. “Have I left you speechless already? Damn, I’m good.”

Donghyuck splutters.

“What, am I too tall for you? Too swoon-worthy? Too much of a trumpet virtuoso?”

“Shut up, you – you beanpole! Don’t act like – uh… Well, the air has to travel farther from your diaphragm!” (And, well, Yukhei is probably at least halfway decent if he made second chair, but.) “I haven’t even heard you play yet, but clearly I already outplay you!”

Donghyuck glowers up at him. _Up_ at him – who gave him the right to be so tall? Also, why is he standing up? Finally conceding his stolen seat to his fabulous soulmate?

The conductor taps the stand with her baton.

Oh. Rehearsal’s starting. Crap.

“Trust me, I can blow like nobody’s business,” Yukhei tells him, waggling his eyebrows as he finally sits in his own damn chair.

Donghyuck doesn’t have the time or mental energy to respond to that.

In the end, he doesn’t get any of his pre-rehearsal prep done. He doesn’t even get out his pencil, leading to a mad scramble in the first half-hour when the conductor asks for a more… _delicate_ entrance from the higher brass. What he does learn, however, is that his soulmate is an egotistical jackass of a trumpet player. How will Donghyuck survive.

During the first break they have, while the conductor verbally intimidates the strings, Yukhei leans over and declares he’s going to outplay Donghyuck so hard, everyone in the concert hall will hear him.

Donghyuck snorts. “Then the conductor will kill you, dumbass.”

Yukhei laughs as if this isn’t a legitimate reason for fear. “Okay, then I’ll just lodge a spitball in your mouthpiece instead.”

Donghyuck blanches. “Don’t you _dare_ –”

Before Donghyuck can punch him or something, Yukhei bursts out laughing, so loud that everyone turns, and the conductor threatens to write him up for the disruption.

Donghyuck punches him in the shoulder anyway.

He totally doesn’t smile a little when Yukhei turns his infectious grin on him. That’d be absurd.

As absurd as the swell of giddy affection that rises in him when Yukhei’s grin only widens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- this is silly but at least I get to channel high school band memories somehow  
> \- me planning this: they have to be at odds; I just can’t decide at what  
> \- just imagine the two of them blaring obnoxiously loud whenever the orchestra tunes together  
> \- as a flute player, I googled “trumpet player memes” as research for this, and it was a great experience  
> \- in my head, hyuck is based on a person I know from college who’s an intimidatingly skilled musician


	6. jungwoo/jaehyun, telepathic link

“I must say, I find your…” An expansive hand motion. “Ah, your attempts… most _charming_.”

Jungwoo raises a genteel brow. “Pardon?” He uncrosses his legs and swings one leg over the other in a carefully graceful motion.

The stuffed shirt clears his throat with a solemn _ahem_. “We-ell, surely someone as lovely as you doesn’t have the time to spare for such erudite topics as this. The finer details of soulmate philosophy often elude the grasp of less educated minds.” Jungwoo draws back in his seat, a hint of aloofness icing over his expression. “I, I mean, surely someone as lovely as you has more pressing needs on his time. Such beauty takes considerable effort, no?”

Jungwoo bares his teeth in a thin smile. “Your concern is _much_ appreciated.” He lets some of his sharpness bleed into his expression. These pretentious types eat up the idea of taming an uppity, vicious little thing.

This man won’t know what hit him.

The stuffed shirt swallows around nothing. “But yes, that theory – that suggestion of yours about the, ah, serendipity of soulmate encounters was most fascinating.” He pauses. “You know what ‘serendipity’ means, right?”

“Sure, it’s like a special kind of dip, right?” Jungwoo says blithely.

An appalled stare.

Jungwoo lets a vacant smile spread over his face. He’s making a lovely joke at the stuffed shirt’s expense, safe in the knowledge that this ol’ moneybags won’t catch it. Better to let him monologue for a bit. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, even if one party is unaware of it. This gentleman gets to self-aggrandize as much as he wants, as unsubtly as he wants, and Jungwoo can let him pratter on without having to actively participate in his delusion.

He pities whoever’s destined to hear this idiot’s thoughts in their head for the rest of their mortal lives. Jungwoo has endurance for many unpleasant situations, but even he couldn’t handle a soulmate who amounts to an endless stream of condescension and ego.

Truly, heavens give him patience. He’d much rather be running slipshod through the winding hallways of the airship than trapped here in the first-class dining room with this gilded idiot.

He pulls himself straighter in his seat, trying to look more proper, and feels the tightened laces dig into his back. Damn, beauty really is pain.

_Damn, he’s beautiful_.

The thought appears in his mind, unbidden, from a farther corner of the room. With it comes a sudden awareness of someone’s gaze on him, burning into his consciousness like a brand.

There’s a man far across the feast-laden tables. Sitting alone at a table, a glass of wine half-full before him.

_Hello, lovely_ , comes the greeting, winding into his consciousness like a shining thread.

Jungwoo blinks. What an inopportune time to spot his soulmate.

He’s in shapeless paint-splattered overalls, but he fills them out well. A classically handsome face in a tragically rougher man… but the heat in his eyes is appealing.

The man smirks at the thought. The rush of thoughts that comes in response nearly overwhelms Jungwoo – the man is pleased, and anticipatory, and very, very creative. Some of the ideas flowing in could almost make Jungwoo blush in public, if he were a lesser man.

“– Kim? Mr. Kim?” The stuffed shirt sounds alarmed. “Ah, my dear, is everything quite alright?”

Just fine and dandy, Jungwoo thinks dazedly. Oh wait, that’s Jungwoo’s name.

He returns to earth just to find his dining partner appraising him with badly hidden panic. The man is making a clear effort not to glance away towards… the unwashed riffraff on the other side. Damn, he probably noticed.

Well, nothing a little feigned adoration can’t fix.

Jungwoo shakes it off to give the man a vapid smile. He lets it slacken a little in fake awe when the man gladly continues with his pedagogically significant philosophies.

_You may as well lick his boots for good measure, lovely_ , comes the sour commentary. _Looks like you’re halfway to it already._

_Hush_.

The stuffed shirt seems mollified at Jungwoo’s show of admiration. He expounds at length on the meaning of serendipity, and the unpredictable yet supposedly “right”-feeling nature of soulmates, and the contradiction of self-determination versus destiny, and whether man can truly exist as a self-contained being, as an astonishing coalescence of atoms acting in concert under the direction of a theoretical consciousness…

Jungwoo rises, pushing back his chair with a sudden screech.

_That was graceful, lovely._

Jungwoo ignores the commentary, and admits to his dining companion that he needs a minute to himself, making a show of fanning himself with one gloved hand. The stuffed shirt can make of that what he will, but even Jungwoo’s patience runs out eventually.

There’s a kind of breathless anticipation as he goes. He can hear a stream of thoughts in the background of his mind, but holds off on listening for the moment.

He ducks out into the back hallway, tugging at his clothes once he’s out of the open. Dressing to fit in with the self-titled elites takes so much effort. Someone had better shake up the current fashions soon and free the upper class to breathe easy, otherwise Jungwoo’s liable to choke someone with his laces and run off shirtless.

“Hey, lovely,” says a voice from behind him.

Who knows what kind of unsavory characters he could run into if he ran around so… provocatively.

He turns and raises an imperious brow. “Yes?”

“You need a nice man to keep your bed warm at night?” He smirks, gathering Jungwoo into his arms.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Jungwoo tilts his head, acting coy. “I don’t think the position is open. You’ll have to convince me.” Jungwoo leans forward, crowding him into the wall, settling in against his broad chest.

He gets a dimpled smile in response. “Don’t worry, I can be _very_ persuasive.”

“I know, Jaehyun.” Jungwoo snorts. That’s the kind of thing one figures out after the first time watching a man wheedle his way out of a standoff with three guardsmen and one very angry palace swordswoman. If Jungwoo hadn’t been so busy planning out their escape route at the time, he would have swooned into Jaehyun’s arms right then and there. He values such competence in a partner.

Jaehyun grins at the memory.

But that doesn’t mean Jaehyun’s going to be able to flatter his way out of this one. Jungwoo jabs at his side, and continues, “I’ve got someone on my mind all the time, you know. It’s very distracting when I’m tryna –”

There’s the groan of an opening door, and then a wall of sound suddenly spills out into the hall from the dining room. The door slams shut.

That’s an authoritative entrance from a self-important hack if Jungwoo’s ever heard one. The stuffed shirt has arrived.

He appears around the corner, and Jungwoo prepares himself for a bit of theater. Maybe a little bit of the damsel-in-distress routine, for this _romantic_ gentleman. He’s ready to wrench himself away as if appalled, so the stuffed shirt can rush to “defend” him, and then Jaehyun can stage an altercation –

Jaehyun darts behind the man before he can shout, and slams a blade hilt into the base of his skull.

Jungwoo sucks in an inhale. That was hot.

Jaehyun makes a quick run-through of the man’s pockets. After tucking his spoils away, he drags the man down the hall into a better-hidden doorway. He straightens to give Jungwoo a rakish smirk.

That was hot, but Jaehyun can’t just take all the fun for himself like that.

Jaehyun laughs, apparently overhearing that thought. _Well, we’ve got better things to do, I figure._

Jungwoo rolls his eyes. _Yeah, yeah_. First this guy distracts Jungwoo while he’s greasing up the target, and then he steals all the fun of knocking him down? What kind of soulmate are you?

Jaehyun laughs again as he takes both Jungwoo’s hands in his. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”

Jungwoo lets Jaehyun pull him along. “You will.”

A shout of alarm comes from behind them. _Damn it, Jaehyun, you didn’t hide the stuffed shirt well enough._

_Well, you try doing your job well when there’s a gorgeous soulmate watching you!_

_I already did! And then my gorgeous soulmate distracted me!_

Jaehyun huffs. _It’s not my fault you’re so weak to my charms, even from the other side of the room._

Before Jungwoo can smack his partner for that comment, running footsteps sound along the hallway, heading their way.

_Time to meet up with everyone and stage a daring escape_ , one of them thinks, and they turn towards the airship’s stern as one.

They take off running, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- my thought process for this: so, jaewoo. hey, they did a couple cosplay that one time. wow, Titanic makes me think of this steampunk Naruto AU I’ve read before… with thieves…  
> \- let me know if the side character was appropriately infuriating haha  
> \- how do people flirt. how do  
> \- I feel like this is more steampunk in my head than it actually turned out on doc, whoops


	7. johnny/doyoung, first touch pt I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which you don't know who your soulmate is until you touch them

There’s a cute guy stumbling out of the elevator on Johnny’s floor, a large box slipping out of his arms, another at his feet. He’s scrunching his nose cutely as he mutters curses to himself, probably thinking he’s alone in the hall at midday. He’s not, but Johnny is amused to witness it.

Johnny’s walking up to the elevator doors before he knows it. “Are you the new neighbor?” Johnny asks delightedly.

The cute guy startles and almost loses his grip on the box. He doesn’t, but proceeds to almost trip over the other box instead. (Way to go, hotshot. Johnny’s already nearly taken out the new guy within the first five seconds.)

“Oh, I’m so sorry, let me help you with those!” He ducks around the man and picks up the box at his feet. Never too early to start establishing himself as reliable friend material.

“Well, if you insist,” comes the dry response. He smiles up at Johnny, a hint of laughter in his eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking, dragging both of these things into the elevator with me on one trip. That’s just asking for trouble once I make it up here.”

“Nah, I like a man with ambition,” Johnny counters. “Besides, if you hadn’t brought up an extra box, what would I have done?” He lifts the box a little to punctuate his point. (If it shows off his upper arms a bit, too, well, that’s neither here nor there.)

“Say hi and go on your merry way like a normal person, probably.” The man says it with a sarcastic twist to his mouth, but he makes no move to stop Johnny from setting off down the hall. “But I should remember my manners and thank you, Mr…”

Oh, right, this guy has no idea who Johnny is. “I’m Johnny!” he declares. “I live down the hall, in 376.” He makes an abortive twitch toward a handshake, but his arms are already full. If scaring the cute guy on their first encounter wasn’t already enough of a faux pas, smashing his (startlingly heavy) moving box on the floor would definitely clinch the deal.

“Doyoung.” Doyoung apparently has the same train of thought, trying to wiggle his box to one side and free up a hand, but the weight redistribution clearly isn’t happening. He gives up with a sigh.

They just smile sheepishly at each other instead.

Johnny tries to give Doyoung a solid rundown on their way to his door: which elevator to avoid, when to use the laundry room, the fact that sometimes their mail gets mixed up because their box numbers are too close to each other (376 and 367), but that the mailperson is very nice about it and doesn’t mean to cause the inconvenience… It’s a careful balance between overtures of friendship and information overload. Gotta start right off as the man with all the answers.

Usually, Johnny would make a point to shake hands with everyone on their first meeting, just in case. But in the grand hierarchy of friendship actions, giving the guy a hand on his move-in day is definitely up there. He’s sure they’ll make contact naturally sooner or later anyway.

For now, he just returns Doyoung’s grateful smile, and hopes.  
  
  
  
Johnny can’t find his keys.

He’d gotten in late last night after Yuta dragged him to a bar, so then he’d left his usual nighttime routine to morning Johnny. Well, now morning Johnny is here, and he’s had just about five hours too little sleep to deal with overnight Johnny’s antics.

Who left their clothes all over the floor instead of the hamper? Who dumped their briefcase on the table at prime position to spill papers everywhere overnight? Who _let this happen_ , this – this disaster of a morning, right when he’s got a weekly meeting moved up an hour that he forgot about?

Johnny, of course.

By the time he finds his keys, in the dark void between his couch and the wall, he’s got one leg in his office slacks while he flounders with the other, struggling to hold onto his bag with one elbow. He’d eaten in a hurry, in between checking every cabinet like a fool, but now he wonders if he should have gone full anime protagonist and run out with bread in his mouth. It’s not like that’d be much worse than he looks now, tumbling out the door without one shoe, his tie slipping over one shoulder.

Maybe he’ll get lucky this morning, and Doyoung won’t be there to witness it, even though his breakfast runs have somehow lined up with Johnny’s morning departure times five days in a row this week…

Six days in a row, now.

Doyoung stands still in the hall, watching him with an amused quirk to his brow. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, because he’s a lucky bastard who works from home and doesn’t have to throw himself to the wolves of public transit every morning. His t-shirt is for some band Johnny doesn’t know, but would like to. If they were dating, Johnny would slide a hand into his jean pocket and draw him closer, listening to him laugh or squawk in surprise or whatever it is Doyoung does when romanced –

Damn, Johnny really hasn’t slept enough for this.

Doyoung is still watching him, apparently waiting for Johnny to get over his … momentary lapse of control. Maybe Johnny will never be mentally prepared for seeing Doyoung, he thinks wryly. His smile always comes as a punch to the lungs anyway.

“Morning,” Doyoung says, and smirks. “Calling it ‘good’ seems like a bit of a stretch, looking at you.”

Johnny groans. “Don’t even start. Just – just leave me alone to sort myself out, okay? Good morning to you too, or whatever.”

“But then how’ll I thank you?” Doyoung grins wider at Johnny’s confusion. Well, at least one of them is having a good time here. “For helping me set up the furniture. Never would’ve figured out all those tiny screws without you, y’know?”

_You could help me with the heart palpitations I get around you_ , Johnny’s mind helpfully supplies. “It’s no problem! Anything for a cu- for a nice neighbor,” his mouth says, fortunately. Nice save, John.

“Anything? So you’ll let me invite you over for dinner sometime as thanks?”

Johnny’s brain activity instantly fizzles into blank static.

“Hold on, give me a sec.” Johnny leans down to get his shoes on and his mind unscrambled. An invitation to dinner, first thing in the morning? Doyoung really is out to get him good. While he’s at it, Johnny tracks down his keys again, and locks the door, and then drops everything to fix his tie. Doyoung hasn’t really signaled whether this dinner is a _dinner_ – a dinner _together_ – but Johnny can at least try not to look like a dingus in front of him. Doyoung deserves a non-dingus.

A hand appears in front of his face.

Johnny stumbles back, startled.

“Oh, I – I’m sorry, you had something – there’s a spot on your cheek.” Doyoung’s flushing, now, at close range. Johnny’s face is probably the color of a fire engine.

“No, no, I’m just – not fully awake yet.” Johnny flails one arm. He swipes at his cheek with the other, then winces, remembering that he’s in his work clothes.

“Well, you got it,” Doyoung says, gesturing at nothing. “Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you. You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“Don’t worry about it! It’s just a meeting. I’ve still got, uh…” Johnny checks his watch. A wounded sound escapes his mouth. Shit, his boss is going to string him up by the ankles.

“Yeah, I think you should go,” Doyoung continues, watching Johnny shove everything else in his case and take off for the elevator like a madman.

“Sorry, gotta go! Have a good day at work! Talk to you later! I lo– I’ll message you about dinner sometime!”

The elevator closes with a ding.

“But I don’t have your number,” Doyoung says, to the empty hallway.  
  
  
  
“I’m not sulking,” Johnny insists, uselessly.

“Sure,” Taeil says.

A crackling sound comes over the line, as if Taeil is eating chips while he spectates Johnny’s crisis from afar. He probably is, the adorable bastard.

“I’m not! I’m just concerned, like a good friend!” Johnny gets up and starts pacing, phone in hand. “Have you ever had one of those, Taeil? Good friends check up on their friends when they drop off the map for a while! I’d check up on you if you went AWOL!”

“Yes, yes, you’d drop everything in a heartbeat if I told you I needed something,” Taeil agrees. (“That’s not what I said!”) “And now you’re being a nosy neighbor wanting to barge in on the cute guy down the hall.”

“No, I’d knock like a civilized person, and then I’d ask if he’s okay, like a good friend!”

“Johnny, for all you know, he could have gone on a trip or something. Just because you haven’t seen your cute neighbor in a few days, that doesn’t mean it’s time to panic and overreact, okay?”

Before Johnny can protest how preposterous that claim is, there’s a sound of knocking at his door. He whips his head around, staring at the door as if it’ll reveal its secrets before he opens it. He would have remembered if he’d ordered something… Can it be? Has Doyoung come in the flesh to soothe his fears?

Nah.

It’s some improbably handsome guy with a stack of papers, who looks just as surprised to see Johnny as Johnny is to see him. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this not Kim Doyoung’s apartment?” the guy asks, and isn’t that interesting. Johnny doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but is this guy a friend? A partner of some kind? Should Johnny be scoping out his competition?

“Uh, no, he’s down the hall. 367, not 376.” Johnny waves off the guy’s apology. “Classic mistake, don’t worry about it.” The unexpected visitor makes to leave, but Johnny can’t pass on such an opportunity when it’s literally at his doorstep. “Sorry, uh, but Doyoung – is Doyoung okay?”

He receives a considering look. “Well, more or less,” the visitor says, before seeing Johnny’s crestfallen expression. “No, he’s okay! It’s just a cold or something. He’ll recover and get back to his usual annoying self before long.”

That sounds like the words of a close friend, Johnny notes.

The visitor apparently senses the oncoming conversation and settles the papers on one arm. “I’m Taeyong, the other half of the business Doyoung runs,” he explains, extending a hand. “I’m just here to deliver some forms so Doyoung can keep micromanaging from his apartment or whatever.”

Ah, a partner, in the business sense. “I’m Johnny! I’m his neighbor.” Johnny holds his breath as they shake hands, but nothing happens. No burst of warmth, no feeling of starfire signaling that they’re soulmates. Another friend for Johnny to make, then.

Taeyong’s giving Johnny a _look_ , now, though Johnny has no idea how to interpret that.

“Doyoung was supposed to come in person today for some administrative stuff, but I argued him down to get him to stay at home. I had to bring up the danger to our employees to get him to take a break, can you believe it? If only there were someone who could get that guy to take it easy for a bit…”

With _that_ cryptic hint, Taeyong excuses himself to go nag Doyoung into submission.

As soon as he closes the door, Johnny leaps to action. “Taeil!” he yells into the phone. “Gotta go make some soup, bye!”

“What?”

Taeil will understand, later, when Johnny has the time to explain the situation to him. For now, Johnny cuts off the call and pulls up a recipe. He scrambles to lay out the ingredients all over his counter, and then he gets to work. It’s not Johnny’s proudest creation – he’s a grilling master, not a soup-maker, but hopefully the love and care he puts into the broth makes up for it. Love and care always balance out an excess of seasoning, right?

Standing in front of Doyoung’s door half an hour later, Johnny can only hope so.

Doyoung looks pleasantly surprised when he comes to the door. Also adorably bundled – if it weren’t for public appearances, Johnny could totally imagine Doyoung answering the door with his entire blanket draped around him. The surprise only grows when Doyoung hears the reason for the visit.

“Oh, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Johnny reassures him, holding out the pot like an offering.

“Well… thank you.”

Johnny moves forward to hand him the pot, but Doyoung backs out of the doorway instead. There’s a moment of confusion: Johnny stands there with his hands out like a dumb statue. Doyoung waits by the door. He’s expecting something, but heck if Johnny knows what it is.

“You can come in, you know,” Doyoung finally says.

“O-oh.”

“You can put it down on the table there,” Doyoung gestures. “I’ll go grab something, one sec.”

As requested, Johnny puts the soup down on Doyoung’s modernist little dining table (that Johnny helped assemble), and glances around. They never did manage to schedule that dinner. Johnny has never seen Doyoung’s apartment in its fully unpacked form before today. Well, hey, as Doyoung announced to him last Wednesday, the appliances have finally arrived. Johnny is a little intimidated at the size of his fridge. What’s he hiding in there, a body? An entire colony of penguins?

(Johnny knows better than to ask Doyoung this when he’s probably high on cold medicine.)

Doyoung comes back with a package of tea and thrusts it at Johnny. “As thanks, for going to the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble! I’ll make you soup whenever you want. Sick people shouldn’t have to do stuff.” Johnny waves his hands emphatically instead of accepting the gift.

“Just accept the thanks and go before I infect you,” Doyoung insists.

“No, I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re completely fed and hydrated. Your friend is worried! I gotta make sure you’re doing okay.”

“ _Taeyong_ is worried, huh.” Doyoung gives him a look, probably seeing right through him. (Subtlety is not one of Johnny’s strong points.)

Even so, Doyoung lets him stay, and he watches Doyoung drink one bowl, down to every last drop.  
  
  
  
(“Taeyong! How could you snitch on me like that!”

“Don’t act like getting your hot neighbor to coddle you was some kind of punishment, Doyoungie.”

“What am I supposed to do with all this soup? He just showed up at my door with food for me, how was I supposed to tell him I’d already made some? Now I’m full, and I’m _pissed_ –”

“Weak.”

“Don’t give me that, this is your fault!”

“Your man was worried about you! I just gave him an excuse to express it!”

“Don’t enable him! The furniture thing was enough. I don’t want to have to repay even _more_ favors.”

“Oh, _favors_ , huh?” Doyoung can _hear_ the suggestive eyebrows in Taeyong’s voice.

“You – Shut up! I – I’ll – Stop _laughing_!”

Taeyong won’t stop laughing.

“Thanks for checking in on me, you asshat, now _goodbye forever_.”

“Love you too, Doyoungie!”

_Click._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- this is influenced by Doyoung's [comments](https://twitter.com/haemjjitokki/status/1209840510711390208) on choosing Johnny as the member he would date  
> \- I keep mistyping “soulmate” as “soupmate”, so I’m delighted to finally work in soup somehow  
> \- the apartment numbers were chosen for a specific reason! try to guess if you want haha


	8. xiaojun/hendery, soulmate-identifying marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Wacko_Azimuth! thanks for leaving a request ^.^

Dejun can’t resist checking on the knife up his sleeve. The cool steel sings at his touch, the inscribed runes warming to the proximity of the matching marks on his arm. Something in his chest eases at the answering warmth.

To his side, Renjun’s scowling, tightly wound on his feet. “Are you sure about this, Kun?” he asks. Renjun would openly carry his knives right now if he could without giving them away.

Kun doesn’t waver. “You will show me the proper respect while you stand in my halls, Guardsman Huang.”

Renjun checks their surroundings before giving their prince a sour look. Dejun doesn’t blame him. Even after years of guarding him, they haven’t quite figured out when Kun is standing on propriety for the sake of public image, and when he’s just trying to maneuver out of a disagreement. Sure, the elders tend to be more uptight about traditional titles, but they’ve had years to acclimate to Kun’s oddities or face his genteel wrath. That aside, their court is widely known to run in a more… _lenient_ way than some others.

At the pain in his palms, Dejun realizes he’s clenching his fists again, and wills the tension to bleed out before Kun can notice.

“I beg your pardon, your highness,” Renjun bites out. “I merely wished to… voice my concern.”

Kun nods, accepting this concession as his due, and strides on. Renjun and Dejun exchange a glance behind him. But, stars, running around after these royals is worse than five days straight of guardsman drills, sometimes.

Even so, they both keep pace with Kun as he exits the glade and presses on through the forest with urgency in his steps. He’s not quite running, aware of how it would look if another member of the court found them – the fourth prince of the deep forest, sprinting away for the far clearings? – but there’s a tightness around his eyes that belies his false calm.

Good to know that he’s not just strolling into this encounter like a lamb into the tiger’s lair, at least. Not that that’ll be enough for Renjun.

Once they leave the central glades, and the earshot of nosy courtiers, Renjun starts up again. They have no reason or precedent for extending such trust, he points out. They will be on barely neutral territory. Kun’s letting someone else call the shots. Renjun makes fair points, but this is Kun he’s trying to wear down. Kun is fourth born of the royal line – they put down their roots and then stand their ground against any storm, Dejun’s mother likes to say. Besides, Kun’s married to Ten, and _that_ is a feat of utmost patience beyond any common forest-dweller.

“Remember what happened at the eastern grove,” Renjun says, and Dejun winces. He braces himself for perhaps defending his fellow guardsman from the very royal they’re guarding, of all people.

Kun’s fists tremble, but he keeps walking. Dejun watches the tense line of his shoulders from behind. Kun’s voice is flat and carefully dispassionate when it reaches them.

“Quiet. We’re almost there.”

They fall silent when they reach the first spills of half-light on the ground, where the trees begin to thin out and let the moon bleed through. While Kun stares up at the moon, jaw set, Dejun looks at him. He can tell just by the grim set of Kun’s mouth that it’s almost time.

Almost midnight.

Dejun takes up his post to Kun’s left, knowing without looking that Renjun is mirroring him on the other side.

Renjun’s lucky Kun has more pressing matters at hand than chewing him out for his indiscretion.

Kun is their prince. That means that he causes them regular stress as if it’s a daily routine for him, as all royals do, but that also means that as much as he would like to, Dejun cannot step closer and lend him a hand of support. Kun must stand on his own, in his pride as the fourth prince of the deep forests. They must follow. Kun’s hope for reconciliation has led them here, and one can only hope that his unique brand of negotiation will see them home safely.

Dejun may not know what this meeting is about, and he may not trust _the others_ one bit, but there is nowhere Kun could go where Dejun would not follow. Renjun, for all his misgivings, would come too, and probably save both their hides while he’s at it. Renjun has always had the sharper eye of the two of them.

“On guard,” he murmurs, and Dejun stands at attention.

The figures emerge from the sparser trees on the other end of the small clearing. Three of them, one walking ahead, just like Kun and his guards. Just as promised.

One guard carries a sword at his waist; the other rests a heavy staff on one shoulder. Unsubtle to the point of an open threat. Dejun’s not even surprised.

Without a word, they settle in opposite each other on the small clearing.

The tall figure standing before Kun gives a ceremonial bow. “I trust swift winds brought your arrival, Prince Kun, fourth in the line of Qian, of the deep forest.” He’s going by the book – as the caller of the meeting, he starts off the proceedings.

Even from behind, Dejun can see Kun ease imperceptibly at the ceremony, always more comfortable with ritual than either of his guards. “And I trust fair skies smiled upon yours, Prince Yukhei, fifth in the line of Dong, of the high mountains.”

The guard facing Dejun lifts his staff an inch. Dejun barely holds himself back from reaching into his sleeve. The guard brings his staff down to settle on the ground like an oversized walking stick.

“I _am_ glad you could make it,” Yukhei says, eyes wide as if that’ll make his sincerity more convincing. “I know this is… unusual, and you have little reason to trust me, but I have hope. I, I hope you’ll hear me out.”

“I am here to listen whenever you’re ready to speak,” Kun says. There’s a muscle jumping under his jaw.

Yukhei shifts minutely on his feet. Good to know even one of _them_ can get nervous. “I have a… proposition, for you.”

A pause. Kun looks skeptical. The others are waiting, and Dejun sucks in one breath, and then another, pushing down the muted panic in his stomach. He can already feel Renjun bristling at some perceived slight.

“I was wondering what you were up to on such a quiet night, little brother.”

A shadow slips out of an overhead oak and alights on the ground in an easy crouch. Before the interloper has even fully straightened to that familiar arrogant slouch that always makes the court elders bristle, Renjun has his knives out, snarling, “I _told_ you it was a trap, Kun!”

“Wait!” Yukhei yells. “No, wait, what are you doing here –”

Kun grits out a warning. “Renjun, wait.”

But the third prince of the high mountains has already raised a hand, and the guard on the right rises to his unvoiced command, advancing on Renjun, sword drawn.

Yukhei throws out his hands in a panic. “Sicheng, stop _ruining_ everything! We’re here in peace!”

“Should’ve thought to tell me that before you snuck out with just _two_ guards and half the armory, then,” his brother says, not even flinching at the clash when Renjun and his opponent’s blades meet.

That leaves Dejun to handle the other threats present, then. Dejun shoves Kun back and falls into a defensive stance. His blade keens at the promise of blood.

“Dejun,” Kun starts, and then stops, helplessly.

Dejun isn’t sorry his blade will see battle after all tonight, but he is sorry that Kun will have to watch it.

A heavy staff swings at Dejun’s head, and the rush of blows that follows drowns out any other thoughts Dejun can have about Kun’s idealism.

Dejun catalogues the attacker’s motions as they fight. He’s more rigid in his stance than forest-dwellers tend to be, pivoting his weight about the swings of his staff. His strategy depends on him landing more than a glancing blow on Dejun, to knock him out or wind him, but Dejun can already tell he’s faster than this unyielding man. Sharper, too, with the bite of a spelled blade in his hand.

Dejun sees his opening and snatches at it, snatches at the attacker’s wrist to drag him off balance, faster than he can catch himself, to meet Dejun’s rising knife, the blade singing at a feverish pitch in his ears as the hilt _burns_ in his hand –

A flash of blinding light.

A spell? Dejun wouldn’t put it past them to hide a magic-weaver as a simple guardsman. He grits his teeth and keeps his eyes open.

Before his eyes, the light ripples over the clearing like slowed lightning, cooling to a vivid blue, gathering and coalescing into a softer glow where Dejun and his adversary’s hands meet.

A mark on Dejun’s arm burns blue. _That_ mark. It burns on his forearm, like a brand, or a claiming hand.

Dejun feels a phantom warmth under his fingers, tingling like pinched nerves, where he’s still clutching the attacker’s wrist. In his grip, the wrist turns, revealing a pale forearm, marked only by an electric blue insignia, pulsing in time with Dejun’s own.

His breath seizes in his lungs.

His attacker – his _soulmate_ – wrenches his arm from Dejun’s grasp, but holds it outstretched, where they can both see it glow in unison with Dejun’s trembling arm.

Dejun closes his fist and wills the shaking to stop before the other can sense his weakness.

“Oh, stars,” someone says, and all of a sudden Dejun is acutely aware of the hush that’s fallen over the clearing.

The others stand frozen in their tracks, all fighting paused in the face of such an unexpected spectacle. Dejun glances over them, and sees Renjun’s face slack with shock, his opponent nearly dropping his sword, and Yukhei blatantly gaping in a way his royal retainers would certainly scold him for.

It’s a momentous occasion, a soulmate match, and every one of them is choking at the sight of it.

Yukhei coughs the cobwebs of awkwardness from his throat. “Isn’t this great?” His other guard twitches dangerously, but he barrels on. “A love match, what an auspicious occurrence!”

Dejun can’t even begin to guess how Kun feels about this development. In spite of himself, he turns to his liege, to find him looking away, towards the others, a subtle grimace on his face. Renjun stands half-hidden behind him, openly scowling at Yukhei’s words.

Third prince Sicheng scoffs and resettles his mantle about his shoulders. He shifts his weight towards the way they came, and jerks his head, a clear command to fall back and regroup.

He starts off without waiting for a response. Yukhei sighs, but turns to leave as well, nodding at Kun. Apparently it’s acceptable for even royals to throw out ceremony when their meeting ends in a crossing of blades and a soulmate match. Both guards fall in with their princes, but Dejun’s soulmate takes a heartbeat longer than he should to follow.

Dejun steps forward, ignoring Renjun’s growl of warning.

They freeze and regard him warily. Dejun doesn’t know what trick they think he’ll pull, doesn’t know how he’ll fend off Renjun’s protective badgering after this, but this… this matters more than any one of them.

“Xiaojun.” The syllables spill from his mouth like brittle pebbles. “You may call me Xiaojun.”

A breeze lifts through the trees, and then his soulmate nods. “Hendery.”

They walk away, silent on the grass, and slip into the distant shadows once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I know the request was "not too fluffy", but I think this is just no fluff at all ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> \- in hindsight, it’s convenient that both Xiaojun and Hendery have multiple names I can use  
> \- there was more of a delay than I'd intended while getting this chapter out, but hey... I was on spring break! reading an unexpectedly large amount of johnyong! twas a good time  
> \- just as a heads-up, my current plan is to finish off 96line part II and johndo part II, and then I'll be moving on to other projects


	9. kun/doyoung/ten, red string of fate pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation from chapter 1!

If Ten had known that growing up to be a Famous™ person just meant having friends mooch off of him every time they went out, he would’ve stayed put in Korea and become a hermit painter instead.

He can picture it now. He’d lock himself in a sunlit compound for weeks at a time. He’d restrict visitors, but Johnny would find a way to get in anyway to give him warm hugs and force food into him. Ten would accept the spoiling with reluctant grace, and hey, maybe he’d even be magnanimous enough to allow Jaehyun in, too. Jaehyun, at least, is a saccharine marshmallow of a human being, instead of some kind of hungry void that exists solely to vacuum away all of Ten’s cash.

Yukhei and co., on the other hand, would be banned for life. Seriously, what do these guys think he is, an interest-free bank?

“Don’t be silly, Ten,” Guanheng says. “We didn’t bring you just for your money. We’re using you for your fashion sense, too!”

Ten scoffs. “Fashion sense? Screw you, I _am_ fashion–”

“Ooh, check out this necklace!” Yangyang thrusts an atrocious gold chain and pendant in Ten’s face.

“Yangyang, if you put that monstrosity on my friend’s neck, I am never talking to you again.” Ten has a reputation to uphold.

Not that Yangyang has any concept of public dignity. He hotly protests Ten’s fashion evaluation, and then they just complain back and forth across the store like middle-aged aunties. Ten gets the sense that Yangyang is trying to distract him, in his own chaotic way. Ten would be touched if he weren’t so offended.

“You just don’t understand what the youth are into these days,” Yangyang sniffs. “Besides, we’re not styling _you_ , so your pretentious tastes don’t matter.”

“You literally brought me for my impeccable taste.”

“No, we just want your credit card,” Yangyang says, then bulldozes on before Ten can answer. “Anyway, the star of the show definitely agrees with me, right, Yukhei?”

They both turn to Yukhei. He’s practically hyperventilating into his hands, sitting on a nearby display. Ten needs to get him off of that before someone knocks it over and gets them kicked out.

“Okay, okay. Let’s take this seriously,” Dejun cuts in. “We’re on a mission here. A heroic mission. Our friend called for aid, and we have to come through.”

“I’m doomed,” Yukhei says mournfully.

“It’s just a date, Yukhei. You’ll be fine,” Guanheng says, for what must be the twentieth time.

Ten sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. They’re not here for him, he reminds himself. This is for Yukhei. Darling Yukhei, who’s freaking out over his impending date, and quite frankly needs a pep talk way more than he needs a styling appointment with their entire friend group. But this is their way of being thoughtful – Guanheng had insisted that Yukhei wouldn’t have the mental capacity to dress for success right now, and he’s right. Ten and his stupid choking soul-strings don’t matter right now.

He still rubs at one pinky, trying to ease the ache, and Dejun definitely notices.

“Let’s just come back here if we don’t find something better later,” Dejun says, instead of calling Ten out. Bless him.

“Sure!” Yangyang agrees. Why doesn’t he ever respect Ten like this? “Let’s go buy snacks!”

“Not too much,” Ten says. “Yukhei needs an appetite for his romantic dinner later.”

“I’m pretty sure Yukhei’s stomach has no limits,” Guanheng snorts, but they fall into step together and make for the food court.

It happens when they’re in line for food. Ten and Yangyang start an argument again, and Yangyang calls on Yukhei to back him up. There’s no answer. They all turn in confusion. Yukhei is a lot of things, but quiet is not one of them.

Yukhei’s walking away from them without a sound. Maybe they said something? But then Yukhei suddenly bellows across the food court, “Kun!”

A man turns around in confusion several tables away. “Yukhei?” Then he sees Ten, and his face blanks out. It’s a face Ten wouldn’t mind seeing in his dreams.

Kun raises his arms to accept Yukhei’s incoming hug, and the motion pulls at Ten’s hand. At Ten’s string. Ten lifts the hand to eye level and stares at the string in shock. It’s practically tearing his pinky off to yank him towards Kun, towards the other end of his string.

Ten’s choking on the panic in his throat. He’s not ready for this.

An excited shout comes from another direction: “Ten!!”

Ten turns just in time to catch the gigantic figure that barrels into him. “Johnny?!”

Johnny is overjoyed and over-enthusiastic, as always, but behind him is… another beautiful man. Damn. Ten looks him over. Nice shoulders. They’d look even better with a pretty thing draped over them. Like Ten, for example.

The red thread that runs from him to Ten would be even prettier, if it didn’t hurt so much on his finger.

Beautiful man #2 greets beautiful man #1 (Kun) with a kiss and nods at the man at his side. “Hi, Sicheng.”

“Sorry, I’m off work right now, who are you again?”

“ _Sicheng_.” Kun sounds like a disapproving parent. Ten already feels the urge to needle at him and test his control. This is bad.

Their hands are intertwined, the red string twisting around both their pinkies where they meet. Do their other hands hurt as much as his do?

Then comes the onslaught of introductions. Here’s Yukhei and his troupe of clowns. (Ten not included, of course.) Here’s Johnny and beautiful man #2, more commonly known as Doyoung. Here’s Kun and his friend Sicheng, who works with Doyoung sometimes. Ten feels an irrational irritation at the thought. Sicheng’s kinda hot. Who gave him the right?

There’s no way Kun and Doyoung haven’t noticed their shared strings with Ten by now, but apparently they don’t want to have that dialogue right here in front of all of their friends and the entire food court. Instead, Doyoung keeps talking too loudly and glancing at Ten improbably often. Kun avoids eye contact and resolutely ignores his reddening ears. Ten rolls with it, trying to keep his breathing under control.

Ten doesn’t know what he wants. A touching reunion of soulmates? A public spectacle? A chill day with merged friend groups? An escape from all the pressure? Guanheng keeps looking at him. His friends will see through him before long. 

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to spoil your own present,” Doyoung’s saying to Kun, trying to shove something further down in the shopping bag on his arm. Kun rolls his eyes.

“We all knew you’d go overboard anyway,” Johnny says, as if he isn’t carrying three bags on each arm himself. Ten has no doubt that every single one is for Jaehyun.

Sicheng hums in agreement.

“Well, I didn’t,” Yukhei says, needlessly.

“You’re one to talk!” Doyoung snaps at Johnny. His irritation softens when he turns to his partner. “You told me you were staying in with Sicheng today, Kun.”

Kun shrugs. “There’s been a casualty.”

That explains nothing. There’s a judgmental silence.

Sicheng sighs. “The handle to my coffee pot came off in his hand. He owes me a replacement.”

“We’re just here so Sicheng will stop whining at me,” Kun explains. Sicheng smacks his arm. “I didn’t mean to mess up your plans, dear.”

“That makes it sound like he had some kind of plan beyond blowing half his royalties on you,” Johnny says. “That’s expecting too much of him. His brain’s full of Kun thoughts, he doesn’t have room for anything else.”

Doyoung scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. He starts in complete deadpan. “My love is all-consuming. He fills my every dream and waking thought.” Kun has his face in his hands. Sicheng is pointedly staring at the food. Ten’s friends just radiate unholy amusement. “I would risk it all for him. I can’t help but want to give him everything.”

Doyoung hesitates, then turns to Ten. “I’ll find something for you, too, later.” Oh, god.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Guanheng demands.

Doyoung flushes.

“Hey, you heard him,” Dejun says, but he looks… suspiciously calm. “He likes to spoil his soulmate, and he’s going to give Ten something.”

Johnny’s face is broadcasting the fact that he’s having a Realization, which never means anything good, but especially not now. Ten needs time to process this. He can’t deal with Johnny’s soppiness at the same time.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to,” Ten tries to say.

“Wait, is he – are you –” Yukhei has dangerous questions forming on his tongue, glancing between the three of them.

“I want to!” Doyoung insists. “It can be like… a welcome present, or something?”

“Welcome to what?” Guanheng is probably going to shake the truth out of someone if no one tells him outright within the next two minutes.

“Eternal bliss,” Sicheng offers sarcastically. Kun glares at him again. (But Ten appreciates the optimism.)

Doyoung smiles nervously at Kun, communicating some intention with his eyes. Then they both swivel to stare at Ten instead, and suddenly he can’t hear over his pulse going double-time in his ears.

Kun clears his throat. Everyone shuts up. It’s kind of beautiful.

“Uh, so, this is our third soulmate?” Kun gestures awkwardly at Ten like he’s showing off a new car or something.

This is too much. Ten pushes away and starts speedwalking. (With confidence. He’s not fleeing.) He can already hear the shouting start behind him, kicked off by Johnny yelling, “Get back here so I can hug you, Tennie!” Ten walks faster.

A set of footsteps follows him, and then another. “Good idea,” Doyoung says, appearing at his right.

Ten has no idea what he’s talking about, but of course it is.

“I’m sorry,” Kun says from his left. “I wasn’t sure how to handle that, with all of them – it was already kind of awkward the first time with Yuta there.”

Ten blinks.

Doyoung apparently senses the confusion. “Yuta is a major nuisance I have to deal with. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yuta’s his manager,” Kun talks over him. “He, uh. He was there when we met. In the studio.”

“Okay?” Ten says. The studio?

“I’m a singer,” Doyoung blurts out. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of me.” He still looks hopeful about it, though, which is cute.

“And I’m a producer, but you’re even less likely to have heard of me.” Kun seems to be at peace with this. Ten’s going to have to hunt down every last song Kun’s produced and plug it on his social media the instant he’s alone in his apartment.

An awkward pause. This is probably where Ten says something. “Um, I’m a designer. A fashion designer. I make pretty clothes and show them off in fashion shows, basically.”

“That explains why you travel so much,” Doyoung muses.

Ten winces. He knew they’d notice, but he was hoping they wouldn’t doubt him because of it.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We should save this for later,” Kun sighs.

“But we’re already spending time together now. We might as well get some of the formalities out of the way,” Doyoung argues.

Ten doesn’t know what that means, but he’d rather discuss anything but this, so.

The conversation moves on into safer waters.

“So you already knew Johnny?” Doyoung asks. Ten nods. “And he never thought to tell us? I’m going to murder him.” Ten’s soulmate is completely valid in his homicidal ideations.

“Well, we have more urgent business right now. Save the murder for after dinner,” Kun says reasonably, and pauses. “Actually, take Yukhei into consideration, too. That kid never tells me anything. But just intimidation. No murder.”

Doyoung deflates. “Right.”

They meet gazes from either side of Ten, and Kun shrugs one shoulder. “Since we already abandoned everyone else, should we just head over now?”

“I don’t see why not,” Doyoung answers. He nods at Ten. “Ready?”

They both look at Ten expectantly.

He stops walking. What do they want from him?

“Do you not want to? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume things,” Kun says. Kun should never have to be sorry for anything.

Clearly they’re on the same page, somewhere miles ahead of him, and he’s already desperately trying to keep up, Ten realizes. The thought shouldn’t come as such a shock. But, well. If this were Johnny having a crisis, Ten would tell him to be honest.

“I – what do you want from me?” Ten sucks in a breath. “Or. I guess. I don’t know. What are you guys talking about?”

Doyoung is staring at him like a startled bunny, which Ten would definitely tease him for if he weren’t trying to initiate a serious adult conversation.

“Oh,” Kun whispers. He snorts. “Dear, we’re kind of dumb.”

“How dare you put yourself down in my presence,” Doyoung answers reflexively.

Kun ignores him, instead reaching out and gently grabbing Ten’s hand. “Well, we – we want to get to know you, and we all seem to have the time right now, so… we were hoping you’d let us take you to dinner.”

Oh. That’s… very sweet. Ten feels like maybe he should be the one paying, since he’s the one barging in on an established relationship, but that discussion can come later.

Kun nudges Doyoung with his elbow, then grabs him with his free hand. Obligingly, Doyoung moves closer, so the three of them form an unmoving triangle in the middle of the mall walkway. Doyoung takes Ten’s other hand. They’re all holding hands. Ten’s holding hands with both his soulmates out in public. This is amazing.

“So, Ten. Would you like to go out with us?”

Ten hums and swings their hands around, pretending to think it over. They probably see right through him. Even so, Kun gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, and Doyoung just smiles patiently.

Ten takes in a deep breath and exhales.

“I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- who’s yukhei going on a date with?? you decide! (I can’t)  
> \- I originally planned to prolong the angst some more, but then I changed my mind and restructured this  
> \- it hasn’t even been that long since I wrote part I, and yet I’ve already forgotten the details of it lol  
> \- I haven't yet decided whether to write a bit more for this and post it here, or to just post the whole thing in a separate work so it's easier to read all at once. we'll see


	10. johnny/doyoung, first touch pt II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation from chapter 7!

Johnny has just settled into his couch, with a bowl of noodles and some weird show Ten recommended him, when the screaming starts.

Johnny leaps to his feet before the sound registers.

It’s the fire alarm.

He runs out the door, phone and wallet in his pocket, and clatters down the stairs on autopilot. Two floors down, he wonders if he should have checked on Doyoung. He could have gone to knock on his door or something, though that’s probably against evacuation protocol.

When he gets outside, he realizes he needn’t have worried. Doyoung’s beaten him there, standing to one side, watching the door worriedly. His face lights up when he spots Johnny.

Clearly he’d been cozied up inside when the alarm went off. He’s in a hoodie, hood up, a fringe of messy hair spilling over his forehead. Johnny barely restrains the urge to ruffle it when he walks over. He looks so huggable. Johnny could backhug him, clasp his hands together in the pocket over Doyoung’s belly and draw him into his arms…

“Fancy meeting you here,” Doyoung greets him.

“I know.” Johnny comes to a stop in front of him. “You come here often?”

Doyoung scoffs, but he’s smiling. “Does this happen often? We have used to have problems with faulty wiring at my last building, but I was hoping the new place would be better.”

“Not _too_ often,” Johnny says, then launches into a retelling of the time he heard an awful sound down the hall, went over to investigate, and ended up getting swarmed by his neighbors’ five escaped cats.

Their neighbors continue to trickle out of the building. The alarms scream on.

There’s a burst of shouting and laughter from the door, and a body crashes with Johnny from behind. He stumbles, struggling for balance. Doyoung’s face is suddenly very close and very beautiful in high-definition. Johnny might be hyperventilating.

“Oh shit, that’s a person, I’m so sorry,” the new arrival apologizes loudly. Johnny turns around to face some college kid about as tall as he is.

“You could try a little harder to keep your floppy noodle body under control, Yukhei,” another boy says. He’s wearing a Shrek t-shirt, of all things, in the chilly evening air.

“Did you hear something?” Yukhei puts a mocking hand to his ear. “Sorry, the air’s too dense up here, I can’t hear anything from _short people_.”

His friends apparently take offense to this, exploding in a burst of bickering in another language. Johnny’s Mandarin is firmly stuck at basic sentences, but he thinks it might sound like… Cantonese?

A boy tugs Yukhei away and settles his flailing limbs with a gentle side-hug. He nods at Johnny and Doyoung. “Sorry about that, guys. We’ll be more careful.”

Shrek t-shirt boy rolls his eyes. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who got all of us stuck out here in the first place, Mark Lee.”

“How was _I_ supposed to know –”

Mark’s defense is impassioned and full of emphatic hand gestures, but Johnny doesn’t catch the rest of it, because there’s the sudden sensation of a warm body leaning into his. Johnny freezes up. Doyoung settles his head on Johnny’s shoulder, his arm bumping Johnny’s with the motion. Should Johnny put his arm around him? Would that be weird? Wouldn’t it be weirder to not react?

Doyoung doesn’t even comment on it. He asks how Mark set off the fire alarm and promptly shames him when he finds out.

Somehow, they end up in an impromptu icebreaker circle, and Johnny feels like he’s been dumped back in a first-year college dorm again. They learn the answers to questions about the kids that they’d never think to ask: Hendery plays the drums, and has strong opinions about the Shrek musical, hence the t-shirt. Dejun vlogs at any inopportune moment. (“So do you! Remember that time the elevator got stuck?”) Mark and Yukhei are soulmates and met by literally crashing into each other in a practice room doorway.

By the time the alarms shut off, and the firefighters give the all-clear to go back, the kids have burrowed their way into Johnny’s heart. They’re just a bunch of contrasting personalities, sharing a flat, that somehow manages to rival Johnny’s friend group in their level of chaos.

Doyoung, meanwhile, has burrowed his way into a proper embrace from Johnny, leaning enough of his weight on him until Johnny _had_ to loop an arm around him and steady him. Or so Johnny tells himself.

He still has a second of crisis in the sudden silence when the alarms cut out. Does he let go now?

“Oh, thank god. I was getting so hungry,” Dejun groans, trudging back to their building entrance.

“Food! Food! Food!” Yukhei cheers, making to run off before his soulmate drags him to a halt.

“Uh, not to be a downer or anything, but…” Mark sucks in a breath through his teeth. “We kinda don’t have food anymore. It’s all burnt.” He carefully doesn’t mention who burned it.

The kids pause and give a moment of silence for the remains of their dinner.

“Dejun would probably still eat it,” Hendery says.

“Please don’t,” Johnny cuts in hurriedly. And, hey, he’s about to return to his food as well, so… “Want to come up to mine for dinner instead, then?”

“Really? Can we?”

“We don’t want to impose…”

“Well, what kind of neighbor would I be if I let my new friends starve?” Johnny smiles winningly. “Or eat toxic kitchen remains, I guess.”

The boys cheer, and Yukhei strides over to shake Johnny’s hand with way more enthusiasm than necessary.

It’ll be nice to have some people over, Johnny thinks. He’s not a person who spends much time alone if he can help it. He just has to throw more of a meal together, something with enough substance for four college-age boys… Uh oh. “Four college-age boys” may as well mean “four bottomless pits”, one of them the size of Johnny, and Johnny has experience keeping that much human fed and energized. He was planning to make a grocery run in two days, after work, but there’s no way that’ll be enough now.

Doyoung pats his arm. “Cool, I’ll combine my groceries with yours,” he says, and draws away.

Oh. Cool, cool, cool. Doyoung has extended the invitation to himself. Great. Johnny isn’t even sure if he’d originally meant to include Doyoung in the invitation. His brain was functioning at half capacity as it was.

“I’ll stop by my place and then come over,” Doyoung tells him, then starts up the stairs.

Dejun turns to Johnny as they make their way up. He gives a cute smile, and Johnny shoves his doubts aside to smile back. Johnny can worry about all this later. He can put his tangled feelings for Doyoung in a box and shelve it for a few minutes.

“So, like, are you guys dating?” Dejun asks.

Johnny chokes on air.

Even as he stammers out an answer (no), ahead of them, Doyoung realizes no one’s walking beside him, and turns around to give Johnny a gummy smile.

What could Johnny possibly do besides smile back?

Ah, crap.  
  
  
  
“So, Mr. Suh. Tell me.”

Dejun folds his hands over the table like some kind of B-movie villain. He nods at Doyoung.

“How did you guys meet?”

Johnny can’t help but think that this feels like an interrogation upon the announcement of a new relationship, and he takes offense to that. Is this what they invited him and Doyoung over for? These kids are five years too early to be mocking Johnny about his lack of mojo when it comes to Doyoung. Dejun doesn’t even react to Johnny’s glare, the little rat.

“Oh, Johnny helped me when I moved in,” Doyoung says.

“That’s adorable,” Hendery declares. Across from him, Yukhei shovels food into his mouth like a bulldozer, but gives them a thumbs up. “Big meet cute energy.”

Mark snorts and puts more food on Yukhei’s plate. It disappears within seconds.

“Actually, he scared the crap out of me by showing up out of nowhere,” Doyoung continues, cutting his meat into equally sized pieces.

“Even better,” is Hendery’s evaluation. “Please tell me he swept you off your feet with his gentlemanly apology.”

“No, we were a little awkward,” Doyoung admits. Johnny doesn’t disagree, but he really wishes Doyoung wouldn’t give the youth ammunition like this.

Mark turns to Johnny and declares, with utmost sincerity, “Johnny, dude, you gotta step up your game.”

Johnny opens his mouth to argue, but Doyoung beats him to it. He says, “yeah, like this,” and Johnny turns to him involuntarily, just to receive a pair of chopsticks shoved in his mouth. Oh, that’s food. He accepts it into his mouth on reflex. Doyoung just fed him.

He chews in a daze.

“Yeah, see, Doyoung’s got you beat there,” Dejun agrees, clearly trying not to laugh.

Yukhei swallows his food in a huge gulp and sets down his chopsticks. “We’re honored that you guys are gracing us with your presence when you could be having quality time together,” he says, and Johnny can already sense the incoming brazenness. “Alone. In a nice restaurant somewhere.” Yukhei takes a sip of water. “Table for two.” Dang, he’s really going for it. Johnny would be impressed if he wasn’t feeling an overwhelming urge to strangle him right now.

“Johnny’s paying, of course,” Hendery chimes in.

Johnny chokes, and Doyoung thumps his back.

Dejun tuts and shakes his head. “Honestly, Doyoung, how do you even handle this guy?”

“Well, I have to thank him for all his help somehow,” Doyoung says, his hand rubbing in soothing circles on Johnny’s back. “Sometimes it feels like he’s in my apartment more often than his own.”

“I’m happy to help,” Johnny insists. Besides, maybe if he spends as much time around Doyoung as possible, he’ll get desensitized to his stunning presence, and then he can sweep Doyoung off his feet properly. (Not that that’s panned out so far, but Johnny is nothing if not optimistic.) Plus, Johnny’s always down to show off how useful he can be around the home.

“Nice to have a beanpole around for the highest shelves, am I right? Hendery says, and Yukhei makes a wounded noise around his mouthful of rice.

“Nice to have a stack of muscles for carrying stuff,” Mark agrees. He just beams when Yukhei turns betrayed eyes on him. Yukhei can’t hold up the façade for long, breaking into giggles with Mark almost immediately.

“Oh, I appreciate it a lot,” Doyoung says. He’s sectioning off his rice into even portions to match his meat. “Johnny’s arms work wonders.”

Johnny barely avoids choking again.

“I bet they do,” Dejun mutters into his bowl.

“You think so?” Johnny’s heart swells (along with his ego). Maybe the kids’ over-obvious approach really does work, he thinks, and he just goes for it. “Which part, the biceps? Triceps? Or maybe you’re a veiny forearms kind of guy.”

Doyoung whips his head around, flushing, and Johnny just grins at him. “Not – not like that! I’m just appreciative!” Doyoung smacks at Johnny’s shoulder.

“ _I’m just appreciative!_ ” Johnny echoes mockingly, combusting on the inside.

“Argh – You –” Doyoung gives up on words and slaps him in the forehead with the rice scooper.

“Is that sanitary?” one of the kids mutters. Johnny’s too busy clutching at his forehead and whining loudly to see who. This is an injustice. Johnny was just asking an innocent question! He has a vested interest in learning Doyoung’s preferences.

“You’re lucky I didn’t use my hands,” Doyoung says, unrepentant.

Johnny can just _feel_ the round of suggestive looks the kids are exchanging around them.

Doyoung clears his throat. “But really, I don’t know what I would’ve done without him. It was really nice to meet someone when I first moved here, especially when I was struggling with settling in and everything. And carrying around too many boxes,” he jokes. He lets out a breath, some tension releasing from his shoulders. “I… I’m really glad we met.” Well, damn. Johnny might actually cry.

“You’ve been a great help, Johnny,” Doyoung tells him. An emotional pause. “Plus, you provide so much entertainment stumbling out of your apartment in the morning.”

“ _Doyoung,_ ” Johnny whines again.

“Like that’s a surprise,” Hendery snorts, always ready to slander him.

“Johnny is just endless amounts of entertainment packed into an oversized clown,” Dejun says. His friends are nodding sagely all around him.

Johnny pouts. “Hey! I’m not just a source of entertainment! I’m also a great friend, and an okay coworker, and an amazing hugger! I have a lot of love to give.”

The kids just grin back at him, as if half of them haven’t already called on the comfort of his hugs in their times of need. Unbelievable.

“I know,” Doyoung says, a hand on Johnny’s arm. “Sometimes I feel like it’s more than anyone deserves.”

He lets go and returns to eating his dinner, oblivious to Johnny’s shocked stare. Or maybe not – a flush rises up his neck as he shoves food in his mouth. He’s resolutely avoiding eye contact. His free hand clenches in his lap, and Johnny aches to hold it.

Doyoung swallows. “This is great. Good job to whoever cooked it,” he says, sending clear “move on and don’t comment” signals.

Johnny sighs. Another time, then. He turns back to his food as well.

He catches movement in the corner of his eye and turns in spite of himself. It’s the kids, of course. They’re making offensively blatant “NOW KISS” motions.

Alright, Johnny’s had enough. He picks up a spoon and launches a potato chunk at Yukhei.

The rest of the dinner devolves into a war zone of flying food and high-pitched screams. (Mark and Johnny forge a battlefield alliance. Dejun and Hendery target them relentlessly for daring to spare each other. Yukhei won’t stop yelling, _FOR VALHALLA!_ Doyoung might actually kill someone.)

The mess takes two hours to clean up afterwards, but the sound of Doyoung’s startled laughter was worth it.  
  
  
  
“Johnny Suh, is this _my_ egg cooker? Are you a kitchen appliance thief? I let you into my home and feed you, and this is the thanks I get?”

Johnny scoffs in fake offense. “How dare you accuse me, Kim Doyoung. You left it here last week when we watched dramas over brunch!”

“And you didn’t think to bring it with you the several times you’ve been over since then?” Doyoung gives a theatrical eye-roll. “Typical.”

“Hey, I knew you’d be back sooner or later.” And hey, Johnny has ulterior motives. He could always use a ready excuse to see Doyoung again at a moment’s notice.

Doyoung concedes that point and returns to his all-important prep work of laying out every ingredient on the kitchen counter before he weighs out a single one. He doesn’t usually do this, he had explained (and Johnny knows), but this is a practice run of the dish Doyoung wants to cook for their friends when they come over this weekend. It’ll be a thing of beauty – or an apartment fire. Their friend groups have never intermingled before.

(Based on the amount of ribbing Johnny’s gotten from his friends already, he’s going to have to run damage control on his reputation with Doyoung the whole time.)

But for now, it’s just the two of them, an array of ingredients Johnny can’t name, and the excited shouts coming from the next room. The college kids have come over to hijack Johnny’s nice TV for their games. Johnny would have joined them to crush everyone at Mario Kart, honestly, if Doyoung hadn’t specifically requested his presence.

Johnny is serving as sous chef today, which basically means that he does whatever Doyoung wants and awaits his every command. Much like any other day, in other words.

Besides the fact that Johnny has never actually helped Doyoung in the kitchen before. To be honest, Doyoung doesn’t need it. While Doyoung mixes the ingredients, and Johnny watches him from a safe distance, Johnny gives him the rundown on his friends instead. It’s good to give him forewarning, Johnny thinks. Taeil won’t shut up about how excited he is to finally try Doyoung’s cooking. (Johnny doesn’t mention that it’s because he keeps hyping it up to him. Taeil insists that every other sentence that comes out of Johnny’s mouth starts with “Doyoung” these days.) Johnny warns Doyoung that Ten is already strategizing the best type of alcohol to get him smashed and ferret out his secrets while staying within the bounds of proper houseguest gifts. (Again, Johnny doesn’t bring up the fact that the party won’t even be in Doyoung’s apartment. It’s at Johnny’s. He’s not prepared for the thought that maybe their friends think there’s no difference.)

“Taeyong will ask if he can decorate anything for you, and he’ll pretend he isn’t sulking if you say no, and that’s just a burden you’ll have to bear,” Doyoung tells him.

“Noted.” Johnny has met Taeyong, and he can imagine an impressive pout on the man’s face.

“LIU YANGYANG, YOU RAT BASTARD!”

An outburst of yelling explodes from the next room, and Doyoung and Johnny stare at each other, shellshocked. Clearly the kids these days care just as much about their games as Johnny’s friends do.

A snort escapes Johnny’s nose. It breaks the dam, and now they’re both laughing in the relative safety of the kitchen. Doyoung half-topples over the counter with the force of his laughter, awkwardly dodging the mixing bowl, and curls a fist in front of his mouth to try to muffle his giggles. Johnny wishes he could bottle up this moment and tuck it away forever.

It takes them a couple more minutes to get it together again. Doyoung shakes off his giggling fit and resumes mixing.

“Hand me that spatula?”

Johnny grabs it without taking a single step. Advantage of having long noodle-boy limbs. He leans to reach Doyoung’s outstretched hand. “Wow, I’m impressed. I didn’t even know I owned this–”

His fingers brush Doyoung’s. The contact comes with a burst of warmth where they meet, like he’s strayed too close to an open fire.

He jerks his hand back, and the tingles travel over the back of his hand and up his arm.

Johnny sucks in a breath.

Doyoung stares back at him, eyes wide.

Johnny’s fingers tighten on the handle as his mouth opens and closes, lost for words for the millionth time in front of this overwhelming man.

Doyoung… is his soulmate.

Johnny might need an hour or five to scream about this.

Before he can, there’s a call from the next room. “Johnny, do you have a minute?”

In almost hysterical amusement, Johnny realizes he’s just standing there, in his kitchen, holding up a spatula for the world to see.

He lets out a breath. “One minute,” he calls back. He places the spatula in Doyoung’s unmoving hand, and holds it between both his own, squeezing gently. He’s never gotten the chance to before, clearly, so he tries to put months of care and affection into this moment of contact. Months of making Doyoung laugh in the mornings. Months of helping in any way he can just to see him for longer. Months of carrying his boxes, or meeting his friends, or letting him rest in warm arms.

Months of building up to this moment, it seems.

He doesn’t know how they’ve never made physical contact until now, but he does know what his heart’s been set on for so long, and maybe that matters more.

So for now, he smiles gently at Doyoung, and feels his heart squeeze when Doyoung smiles back. And soon, he’ll stroll into his own living room to untangle whatever problem the kids have run themselves into, and they will barely notice a difference in his emotions. And later, he’ll come back to Doyoung, and they’ll probably sit down for a long, heartfelt talk.

But for now, he holds Doyoung’s hand in his own, and simply, honestly, truly loves.

The warmth surges between Johnny’s palms, like he’s cradling a fire in his hands.

They have all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- markhei rise  
> \- this is basically a 5+1 fic (5 times johndo just barely missed out, and 1 time they finally figured it out), except it’s 5+2 lol  
> \- though I’m not sure if the “almost” moments are as obvious as I’d intended them to be... oh well  
> \- johnny was supposed to have way more game in this. sorry, dude  
> \- an earlier version of this had hendery kicking off a scene with a bizarre one-liner  
> \- this and its first half will be posted together in a one-shot soon, for ease of reading!
> 
> WOOOO! this is my first time posting anything chaptered. it’s simultaneously one of my longest projects in terms of word count and one of my shortest in terms of time frame, which is kind of hilarious. it’s been a great time wandering through different soulmate verses, so if you’re here reading this author note, thank you for coming along with me! comments are always appreciated ^.^


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